


The Lady of the Lake

by starkunicorn



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: A wee bit of angst but mostly fluff, Adorable Bardlings (Tolkien), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bain and Dwalin are Bros, Bard is a DILF, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Bilbo is sick of everybody’s shit, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fix It Fic, Gen, I’m messing with the sequence of events, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Slow Burn, Thranduil is a matchmaking meddler, Trying so hard not to Mary Sue, don’t be mad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-12-17 09:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkunicorn/pseuds/starkunicorn
Summary: As Bard takes leadership during the Battle of the Five Armies, Laketown's healer Addie Flaxen is right by his side. But as the citizens of Dale settle in to post-Battle peace, Addie feels like her place in the community and Bard's life fading away. Will Bard recognize the love that's been right in front of him for years, before she walks away?Slow Burn with a little angst, but mostly fluff.





	1. Chapter 1

Adelinde Flaxen, healer of Laketown, sat at her worktable, dripping extract of wild thyme into a blue glass bottle. She chewed her lip as she capped the bottle and added it to her supply cabinet. She had just enough to last her throughout the month, but she desperately needed to add to her stores if she had any hope to get the town through the aches and ailments of winter. She’d grown up in Laketown, back when the sun was a little brighter and the people smiled. Before she'd traveled over the mountains to train as a healer with her mother's people in Rohan. 

Back then, she’d had such friend. As a child, she'd run through the docks with them, squealing with laughter and chasing each other over the rough boards. So many of those friends had moved away to towns with more money and fewer greedy imbeciles in charge. Others had died of common ailments easily treated for people who were well-fed and warm. 

The only one left now was Bard, solemn, quiet Bard. He'd never been the same after he lost Anna in childbirth. Old Edith said she'd never seen a man so stricken Bard, weeping with baby Tilda in his arms. Though she'd lost patients before, Old Edith confessed she didn't have the heart to push herself anymore after Anna. She retired, leaving to live with her daughter near Bree, and left the town in Addie's hands. 

Speaking of Bard… Addie checked the sky outside her grimy window. Bard was supposed to be back by now. He’d promised to bring her back some herbs from his excursion on the far reaches of the Long Lake. Bard never forgot a promise, especially not when he credited Addie for helping him get his children through ever little sniffle and chill over the last few years. She used to spend her rare free days riding along on his boat as he worked, to search the shoreline for the herbs she needed. But then Alfrid Lickspittle declared that she would have to pay an “import tax” for bringing the herbs back into Laketown, and she couldn’t afford to pay the import tax on top of the monthly “business tax” she paid in order to practice. 

Out of nervous habit, Addie pulled a small wooden chest from a secret compartment in her desk. She used a key she kept on her mother's good chain to unlock the chest and counted the shrinking pile of silver coins inside. She'd been fortunate that her father, the captain of the Master's guard, had managed to put aside a considerable sum for his only child. To have such a nest egg on top of her medical training, she could have lived a very comfortable life for decades in some other place. But with the Master in charge, she had enough to allow her to practice for about another year, as long as she lived frugally and made the most of the food her patients gave her in payment. After that… she wasn’t sure what she would do. 

The corner of her mouth lifted at the light knock on her door. She smoothed her skirts and tucked a few loose chestnut hairs behind her ears. “Coming!”

She opened the door and found … Alfrid Lickspittle standing there, smiling that awful yellowed smile. 

“Oh… Alfrid,” she sighed, trying not to let her disappointment taint her tone of voice. “What can I do for you?”

“Dear Adelinde, can’t a fellow drop by for a glimpse of his favorite healer?” the Master’s right hand stepped into her home without even asking for admittance. “Does it have to be connected to some mundane task? Perhaps I wish to bask in the glory of your presence.”

She frowned. As a matter of fact, no, Alfrid didn’t always have a task in mind when he showed up at her door. Sometimes he did just drop by her house to leer at her bosom. Alfrid’s joined brows rose in suspicion when she didn’t immediately answer. 

“Well, I always appreciate a visit from a representative of the Master’s office, but if you’ll excuse me, I have a patient coming in for an exam.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Alfrid said, looming over her and backing her lithe frame against her table. 

“It’s a boil!” she blurted out. “A BIG infected boil, just oozing with pus. An unbelievable amount of pus.”

Alfrid swallowed thickly and backed away a step, an expression of disgust on his face. 

“I really don’t know one gets a boil that big on his, er,” Addie glanced down towards Alfrid’s crotch. Alfrid turned slightly green and hunched over as he turned away. Addie smirked, but bit her lip to hide it when he faced her. 

“So, unless you want to watch me drain it, you should probably go,” Addie told him. 

Alfrid frowned, but the expression turned to a sly smile when he saw the chest on her table. Addie sighed. If she’d known it was Alfrid coming into the house, she would have hidden the chest. “Well, before I go, I believe I should collect this month’s business tax.”

“But you just collected my tax two weeks ago,” Addie protested. 

He pulled a browned scroll from his jacket pocket. “Yes, but the Master has decided that because you are seeing more patients, you should be paying twice the tax. So I will be collecting from you every two weeks.”

Addie’s mouth dropped open. “My patients don’t pay me in gold or silver. It’s usually fish or firewood. I won’t have the coin to pay more often. ”

Alfrid sniffed. “The Master is not to be held responsible for your bad business practices. If you want to pay your taxes, you will demand monetary payments from your patients.”

Addie gritted her teeth and focused on not letting the tears forming in her eyes slide down her cheeks. She would not show weakness in front of Alfrid. She would not let him see how badly this new tax scared her. He was already standing too close for her comfort. 

She reached into the unlocked chest, careful to block his view of the contents with her body, and pulled out a silver coin. She slapped it into his palm. “Take it and go.”

“Of course, we could always work out some other means for you to pay your taxes,” he said, trailing his greasy fingers down her cheek. 

Her head whipped toward his, fury making her dark eyes blaze. “Do not touch me.”

“Why are you so resistant to a proposition that could be very pleasurable for us both?” Alfrid whispered, his foul breath making Addie’s stomach turn. “If you agreed to an arrangement with my good self, you wouldn’t spend your time mopping up blood and pus from these peasants. You could live comfortably, in my quarters, without working at all.”

Addie wondered how badly she could hurt Alfrid with her amputation saw and still claim that it was an accident. A quick knock at her door had Alfrid stepping back from her. Her back relaxed as Bard stepped into her house, filling the doorway with his tall, solid frame. 

“Addie, I found-”

“Bard, hello!” Addie said, smiling brightly, interrupting him before he could announce his herbal delivery. “Alfrid just dropped by to collect my taxes.”

“A task I find very enjoyable indeed,” Alfrid said with a leer. Bard scowled at him. 

“And now that you’ve collected your taxes, I believe it’s time for you to go,” Bard said, holding the door open. 

“I believe it is,” Addie said, ushering the crooked little man towards the door. 

“Oh, you have an appointment with Miss Adelinde, do you?” Alfrid asked as Addie pushed him along. 

Bard glared at him. “As a matter of fact, I do.” 

“Well, then, sorry to hear about your little problem,” Alfrid said, smirking slightly as he glanced down at Bard’s belt buckle. 

Addie winced, realizing that Alfrid assumed that Bard was her patient with the boil on his… oh, dear. 

“Think about what I said, Adelinde,” Alfrid told her, just before Addie shut the door in his face. 

“What was that about?” Bard asked. 

Addie shrugged. 

Bard shook his head and pulled a linen-wrapped packet from inside his father’s old coat. “I found the herbs you asked for. And plenty of kingsfoil, though I don’t see what you’d use a weed for.”

“Oh, thank you!” she cried, opening the packet to find a wealth of herbs inside. “These are perfect! How's Bain's cough? Do I need to mix more syrup for him? How are the girls? Is Sigrid's knitting coming along? Is Tilda still teasing her?”

"No, he's much better, thank you. And the girls are fine. Sigrid is making you a very ... interesting scarf. She's made us all very interesting scarves."

Addie laughed. "I'm sure it will be beautiful." 

"Addie, that’s your hope chest,” Bard said, nodding at the box on her table. “I remember when your father made it for you. It’s supposed to hold your dowry.”

“It did,” she told him, locking the box and putting it back in its secret compartment. “It does, still hold some of my dowry.”

“What did you-” he groaned. “The taxes. You’ve been using your dowry to pay for your taxes?”

“I had to. In order to treat the people in this town, I have to pay. Where else was I supposed to get the money? And there was never a great chance of me getting married anyway.”

“Addie,” he sighed. 

She couldn’t look him in the eye, couldn’t tell him that the reason she would never marry was that she couldn’t have the man she’d always wanted. His heart belonged to someone else and always had. So instead she busied herself by pouring them cups of tea from the ever-present kettle she kept simmering on the fire. Bard thanked her quietly as she offered him precious honey from her medical stores. He'd had a sweet tooth since they were children. 

“Losing my dowry isn’t the issue,” Addie said, as he slid into a chair at her table. Bard warmed his chilled hands around the mug and blew across the surface. “The problem is that the Master is raising my taxes. Again. He’s decided that my practice is so successful that I need to contribute a portion of the splendor before you to fairly contribute to the town coffers.”

Addie waved her hand at her small house, which was comfortable, but obviously worn with every object well-used. 

“How often will Alfrid collect?”

“Every two weeks,” she sighed into her mug. 

“And how much do you have left?”

“Bard.”

He leveled those dark eyes at her. “How. Much?”

“About six months’ worth now.”

Bard scrubbed his hand over his face. Rage and mortification brought the tears back and she had to breathe deeply to keep from breaking down into sobs. She would have to leave her home. She wouldn’t be able to stay in Laketown if she couldn’t practice. She would have to leave everything she knew and move to some other town where she could find work for better wages and less insane tax practices. She would have to leave her patients without care because of the Master’s greed. She would have to leave Bard and the children. 

“We’ll figure something out,” he told her. 

She shook her head, clearing her throat. “This isn’t your problem to figure out, Bard. You’ve got three children to feed. You’ve got Sigrid almost coming of age, and she’s going to need a dowry of her own soon. Tilda is determined to bust her toes through Sig’s old boots. Bain is eating his weight in oats every day. You need to keep your coin at home where it belongs. I will find a way to make this work.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“If Alfrid gives you any trouble, I want you to tell me.”

She nodded. 

“Finish your tea,” she told him. “It's good for your joints.”

“Are you calling me old?” he asked, brows rising. 

“If the forty-year-old coat fits,” she retorted. Bard laughed, dribbling some on his coat. Addie cackled. 

“That’s not funny,” he told her, wiping at his tea-soaked lapels. “And you’re not even sorry.”

Addie shook her head. “No.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m playing with the timeline a bit. I realize Bard is getting arrested too early. But this is how I need things to work, please don’t be mad!

Addie was finishing the last of three stitches in a recalcitrant five year old’s chin when she heard the commotion. People were running down the darkened walkways, shouting about dwarves and treasure. 

“Can I go now, Addie?” little Tom Bollsson asked, craning his neck to see what was happening outside. 

“Yes, just be more careful when you’re playing with your brother. No wrestling for at least two weeks.”

“Yes, ma’am!” 

She sighed, watching as he dashed out the door, nearly whacking his head on her shingle. “I will be stitching him up again in two days.” 

She stepped out of her door, wrapping her thick knitted shawl tighter around her shoulders. That noise could only mean trouble was brewing in the town square. In general, this did not bode well. Instead of following the crowds, she went to her work table and began preparing extra ointments, suture thread and bandages. Trouble always meant injuries, and injuries meant visitors at her door. 

The last time she heard this sort of noise, people had rioted in front of the Master’s house after he increased import taxes to the point that vegetables and wheat couldn’t be brought into the village. The people threatened to knock down his door and take the Master’s wheat stores. The Master sent the guard to break up the crowd. She’d sewn more than two hundred stitches and set five bones before the night was over.

But hours later, there were no new patients seeking her help. She could hear music ringing from the Master’s hall and the sound of feasting. For just a moment, she thought about walking down the boardwalk, to see what the fuss was about, to sing and dance with her neighbors, but she was so tired. It was days like this that she understood why her predecessor had been called “Old Edith,” starting in her thirties. Still, Addie knew the preparations that would save her trouble later. She shoved the extra supplies in her travel bag and sat down to a simple meal of coarse brown bread and weak broth. 

She’d made a heartier soup just this morning, but then Millie, a fishmonger’s wife pregnant with her third child, had stopped by. Millie hadn’t been able to keep anything down for days and was worried about losing the babe. So, Addie had served Millie and her two children soup and ginger tea, to help Millie’s stomach. 

And now, her dinner was the dregs. 

“Tomorrow will be better,” she told herself. She sipped her broth, grateful for the warmth filling her stomach. Finishing quickly, she blew out her candle and was about to change into her nightclothes when she heard a knock at her door. 

Addie frowned, picking up her travel bag. Maybe she’d underestimated the destruction involved in the town meeting?

She opened the door to find Tilda standing at her door, tears streaking her red, wind-bitten cheeks. “Addie!”

Addie’s dark eyes went wide. “Tilda, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Tilda threw her arms around Addie’s waist and nearly knocked her over. The little girl was sobbing so hard Addie couldn’t understand her. The only word Addie could pick up on was “Da.” She picked Tilda up, propped her on her hip and swung her bag over her shoulder. She jogged down the walkways to Bard’s house, no mean feat considering Tilda’s weight. 

Tilda smashed her face against Addie’s neck. She wrapped her shawl tight around both of them. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be just fine.”  
Staggering slightly, she set Tilda down and rapped her knuckles against Bard’s door. The latch was unsecured and it swung open easily. 

“Bain! Sigrid?” she called as Tilda dragged her inside. 

The house was dark and unnaturally quiet. Dread filled Addie’s chest, cold and heavy. Had Bard been injured? Had something happened to him on the lake? Sigrid and Tilda had been doing a fair job of keeping the house clean and tidy, but it lacked the warmth of Anna’s touch. Addie’s chest ached, thinking of her friend. 

Even as a child, Anna had kept water-worn glass and smooth pebbles on the windowsill, just because it was pretty. She dried fragrant herbs over the hearth and kept violets in a pitcher on her mother's table. She knew how to make a house a home. 

Bain and Sigrid burst through the door, yelling, “Tilda!” They looked cold and winded, but at the sight of their baby sister, nearly melted in relief. The appearance of Sigrid did nothing to help Addie’s longing for her late friend. Sigrid was the picture of her mother, right down to the angry red flush in her cheeks when she was upset. 

Bain threw his arms around Tilda, “Don’t ever do that again!” he cried. 

“You scared us to death!” Sigrid exclaimed. 

“Sigrid, what’s happening?”

“It’s Da, the guards have taken him into custody.”

Addie’s jaw dropped. “What on Earth for?”

“The King of the Dwarves was talkin’ about how the town was going to be rich again, now that he’s going to take his throne back.”

“Dwarves?” Addie frowned. “What dwarves?”

“Thorin Oakenshield,” Bain said, flopping into his father’s chair. “He says he’s King Under the Mountain. Da brought him and his company across the lake. He said that he’s going to go up to the mountain and reclaim Erebor. He was telling the Master that he would bring trade and riches back to Laketown.”

“The Master was practically kissing his feet.” Sigrid sat at the table and wiped at Tilda’s cheeks with her apron. “Da said they were being foolish, that they were going to wake up the dragon in the mountain and bring death down on us all. The Master said Da was talkin’ out of turn, said he was rabble-rousing and causin’ a public disturbance. And the guards took him away.”

Tilda started crying softly into Sigrid’s collar. Sigrid sniffed. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, Addie. I don’t know when they’re going to let Da free. Last time they only kept him overnight, but, the Master was so angry this time and I don’t know what we’ll do if they keep him for more than a few days.”

Addie shushed her and squeezed her hands. “It’s all right. I’ll stay with you tonight. You’ll get some sleep and we’ll figure it all out tomorrow. Now, have you eaten?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tilda wiped at her cheeks. “Sigrid made fish stew.”

“Good, troubles are always easier on a full stomach,” Addie said, smiling. “Now, let’s put a log on the fire and warm this place up. And then we’ll get you ready for bed. Bain, you and Tilda go change into your nightclothes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bain pulled Tilda out of Sigrid’s lap and ushered her toward the children’s sleeping loft. 

Sigrid sagged against the table.

“Thank you. I try to be strong, but I’m so scared. It’s never been this bad before, Addie.”

Addie cupped Sigrid’s chin with her palm. “Go get some sleep, love. Tomorrow will be better.”

Sigrid rolled her eyes a bit, but she smiled. “You always say that.”

“On rare occasions, I’m right.” 

With the house warmed and the children tucked into their beds, Addie sat at the table, staring into the fire and sipping chamomile tea. The children were settled, but she was decidedly not. 

Bard had been needling the Master for years, knowing how insecure the redheaded simpleton was about his position, knowing that the people grumbled that Bard was their rightful leader. And while Addie enjoyed seeing the Master reminded of just how terrible he was at his job, it seemed that Bard had pushed the Master too far. 

She tapped her fingers against the rim of her mug. She was bone-weary, but she couldn’t even consider sleeping in Bard’s bed. There was just too much significance to sleeping there. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She had to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw Bard locked in the guardtower’s damp holding cells, shivering. 

Sighing, she slung her bag over her shoulder, took a spare blanket from Anna’s trunk and wrapped some bread and cheese in a kerchief. She took the key from the hook near the door and locked the house up tight. 

The celebrations had clearly died down and save for the drunks who were passed out in random corners, people had turned in for the night. The floating town seemed so ominous after dark, eerily quiet save for the creaking of the boards under her feet. She checked over her shoulder again and again, sure that one of the Master’s many spies would pounce on her at any moment. She approached the guardtower with all of the authority she could muster. 

Rolf, one of the newer guards, had been one of her patients since he was a boy of nine. He half-heartedly laid his spear across the doorway. “Miss Addie, you know I can’t let you in.”

“I was told I have a patient inside, in need of medical attention,” Addie told him. 

“Miss Addie.”

“Rolf, do you remember the time you stole your father’s pipe and smoked all of his tobacco in one go? And then you got so ill that you threw up everything you’d eaten for a week? You came to me for help, crying and green-faced and sweating, begging me not to tell your father because he’d tan your hide?”

Rolf flushed under his pointed bronze guard’s helmet. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you remember that I helped you and didn’t breathe a word to anyone?”

“Yes.”

“I will be just as discreet for tonight’s patient, as I was all those years ago,” she said. “Or, if you send me away, I might let that story slip to your father the next time I see him.”

“My father wouldn’t care. It was years ago,” Rolf protested, his eyes narrowing.

“No,” she conceded. “But your mother would care quite a bit.”

Rolf gasped. “That’s evil.”

“Tempt not a desperate woman, Rolf.”

Rolf huffed and rolled his eyes, before opening the door. “Fine, just don’t tell anyone it was me that let you in.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “Say hello to your mother for me, Rolf.”

“Evil,” he sighed as she slipped up the stairs to the cells. 

The holding cells were just as cold and damp as she feared. Bard was huddled into corner of the last cell, bracing his back against the wall. He had his coat collar folded around his head to provide some protection against the icy wind slipping between the boards. 

“Bard,” she whispered. Bard sprang to his feet and approached the bars of his cell 

“Adelinde, what in the world are you doing here?”

She pulled a stool from the captain’s desk to the bars and set down her medical bag. “Oh, just out for an evening stroll, so desperate for company that I go seeking it in prison cells.”

“What?” Bard frowned, the expression pulling at a cut splitting his left eyebrow. He was sporting several cuts and bruises on his face, apparently the handiwork of arresting guards. 

“The children came to me, incredibly upset, that their father was locked away for shooting his mouth off to the Master in the middle of some sort of Dwarf coronation,” she told him. 

“Where are they now?”

“They’re home, sleeping. They were terrified, Bard. And you’ve been beaten to a pulp. What were you thinking?”

“The dwarves, they’re going up to Erebor, to poke at a sleeping dragon. They’ll bring ruin down on all of our heads. But all the Master can see is gold,” he said and she slid the blanket between the bars. "Gold the dwarves will never part with. It's not in their nature to share riches." 

“And you chose to call him out in front of the entire town?” She sighed and opened her bag

“I am well-known for my timing,” he said. 

“That is not how I know you,” she grumbled, pouring antiseptic onto a cloth and dabbing it on his eyebrow. He hissed at the sting of it as she threaded a needle. “Oh, it’s no more than you deserve, you great idiot.”

“I’m sorry,” Bard sighed as she closed the wound on his brow with two tiny stitches. “I’m so sorry that I scared the children. Will you tell them I’m sorry?”

“I will,” she said, tugging the thread and tying it off. He hissed again. 

“What was that for?”

“For scaring me,” she told him. She angrily uncapped a jar of ointment made from wild yams. “Do you have any idea how frightening it was, walking into your house, completely dark, having no idea what happened to you? I didn't know if you were hurt or worse.” 

Her bottom lip trembled as she dabbed the ointment on particularly vicious bruise on his cheek. “Bard, you can’t… please, do whatever you need to do to get out of here. I know it will hurt your pride, but the children need you and I … won’t rest knowing you’re in here, catching your death of cold.”

“I will apologize,” he promised, his hand slipping through the bars and squeezing her fingers. “Convincingly. I will make the Master believe I’ll never talk out of turn again.”

“Good,” she said, nodding, reluctantly pulling her hand from his. Touching him like this would only hurt her more. She nodded toward the hook on the wall, where the captain of the guard kept the cell keys. “I wish I could just take the key, and let you out now, but we both know I would just end up that cell over there. And then where would the children be?” 

“I’d like to think Tilda could put together a passable jail break,” he said. 

“You’re probably right. Now, you have any other injuries? Did they go after your ribs? Knees?” She glanced at his hands. “Your fingers seem intact. Did you get in any hits at all?”

“It was five to one,” he protested, smiling a bit.

“Likely story,” she said, handing him the bread and cheese. “I’m staying with the children until you get out. They’ll be safe with me, I promise.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Tell them I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“I will,” she promised. 

“And if the worst should happen. If the dwarves wake the dragon, I want you to put my children on my barge and get them as far from here as possible.”

“And what about you?” she demanded.

“I can take care of myself. You’re the only person I trust to take care of Sigrid, Bain and Tilda. Promise me, please.”

“I promise,” she told him. “But I don’t like it.”

“Understood.” 

“I’d better get back to them,” she told him. “I don’t like leaving you here.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Even better, now that I have food and a decent blanket.”

“I’ll try to come back tomorrow,” she said, packing up her bag. 

“Thank you, Addie.”

She took one last look at him and nodded. 

The walk back to Bard’s house seemed even darker and longer. All the way, she stared up at the mountain, imagining what was sleeping underneath. She was relieved to find the children still abed when she unlocked the door. 

She poured more tea and dropped into a chair by the table, still debating over where she should sleep that night. Sigrid found her slumped in her chair, snoring against the tabletop, the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat gross medical stuff ahead, plus battle violence. Also this chapter addresses two things that bothered me about the movie. One, why the walnut pillow? Also, two, if you know that dwarves are going up the mountain to stir up trouble with a dragon, why would you not pack an emergency go-bag?!

At the sound of an earthenware cup hitting the table near her head, Addie jerked awake. 

“Conjunctivitis!” she yelped, as Tilda giggled. 

“What do you dream about, Addie?” she asked. 

“You don’t want to know,” Addie told her, wiping at her eyes. Tilda nudged the mug of peppermint tea towards her. 

“Sig’s making toast for breakfast,” Tilda said. “Bain’s doing the outside chores.”

Addie turned to see the eldest of Bard’s children, bent over the fire with a toasting fork. Worry etched lines around Sigrid’s eyes, an expression out of place on a face so young. Toast wasn’t nearly enough for breakfast for three children. But if they had more, Sigrid would be preparing it. Glancing around the kitchen, Addie could almost read Sigrid’s thoughts. How much food did the family have in its larder? How long would it last? How soon would Bard be returned to them and start earning coin? 

“Sigrid, I have some sausages back at my house, that will go nicely with toast,” Addie said. “I can take Tilda with me, give her some air. It will give me a chance to get some fresh clothes. We’ll be back in a wink.”

The worry eased from around Sigrid’s eyes. “Thank you, Addie.”

Addie and Tilda shivered as they walked the boards towards Addie’s house. Most of the town seemed to be out on the dock, waving off a bargeload of dwarves in borrowed local armor. “That’s something you don’t see every day,” Addie commented.

“They were nice,” Tilda said. “Well, most of them. I didn’t like the King. His face was always sour and he talked to Da like Da was stupid. But Mr. Bilbo was very friendly. And Bifur, the one with the axe in his head started to carve me a toy before they got called away.”

“The one with an axe in his head?”

“Battle wound,” Tilda told her solemnly.

“Makes sense.” 

Addie unlocked her front door and sent Tilda to search her larder for the sausages. 

“You have so much food!” Addie heard Tilda marvel from the other side of her bedroom screen. Her belly flushed will cold, hard guilt, that a child should sound so amazed by the contents of a larder. Addie had tried on many occasions to send food home with Bard, but he wouldn’t have it. He said it wasn’t fair to take her hard-earned pay. 

“Well, that’s how people pay me for doctoring them,” Addie called. “It’s too much for one person. Why don’t you pack up as much as will fit in that canvas sack there. The cheese, the apples, the oats and the dried meat, too. We’ll take them back to your house. I could be staying there for a few days and it could go bad if we leave them here.” 

“What about the eggs?” Tilda asked.

“I’ll carry them, if you don’t mind,” Addie said, stepping out of her bedroom in a fresh woolen dress and stockings. “I still remember what happened when you carried that bowl of porridge from the table to the wash tub.”

“That was one time!” Tilda protested, as Addie wrapped the eggs in a kerchief. 

“That was one huge mess,” Addie shot back, making Tilda laugh. 

Addie grabbed her father’s traveling rucksack and packed a few more changes of clothes inside. She put it on her table, along with the sack of food. A strange nagging anxiety overtook her, like this was the last time she was going to see her own home. She didn’t know whether it was Bard’s warnings about the dragon that were putting her on edge, or the appearance of the dwarves or Bard’s arrest. She reached into the secret compartment of her desk and threw her small hope chest in the rucksack, as well as a miniature portrait of her parents. And then she used the rest of the space in the bag to carry the remaining medical supplies in her cabinet. She took her father’s dagger and short-sword from their place of honor above the mantle. The short-sword went into the food sack, where it’s shape would be obscured from prying eyes. The dagger was sheathed in her belt, under her cloak. 

Tilda was thrilled by the number of treasures Addie was moving to their house, and asked if maybe they could make another trip the next day. 

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Addie assured her as they started the cold walk back to Bard’s. “I’m sure your da will be home by tomorrow.”

“You could always stay after Da comes back,” Tilda said cheerfully. "You could live with us."

The very image of Addie coming home to a house full of warmth and noise, of children and Bard, squeezed at her heart so sharply that for a second, she couldn't breathe. Staggering on her feet a bit, Addie made a non-committal noise. She craned her neck to watch as a group of dwarves made their way up the walk to Bard’s house and knocked at the door. She rushed Tilda after them, meeting  
them at the door.

Tilda greeted each of the dwarves with questions and chirps. Addie noted that one of the dark-haired dwarves, the youngest of the party, seemed pale and shaky, and was propped between two of his kin.

Opening the door, Sigrid’s face lit up as the sight of the dwarf party. Well, no, Addie noticed that Sigrid seemed focused on one dwarf, the younger fair-haired specimen holding the sick dwarf’s right side. And for his part, the blond dwarf greeted her with equal warmth. 

“Miss Sigrid, pardon our intrusion, we were hoping to speak to your father,” he asked, very politely.

Sigrid blanched and looked to Addie, who asked, “Excuse me, can I inquire what business you have with Bard?”

The older dwarf in the odd flapped hat turned to her, looking very worn out, and asked, “And who would you be, mistress?”

“I’m Adelinde Flaxen, a friend of the family. I’m looking after the children while Bard is in the Master’s custody.”

The blond dwarf frowned. “The Master’s custody?”

“We should move inside,” Bain told Addie, who nodded. 

“At least, they didn’t come up through the toilet this time,” Tilda said cheerfully as the dwarves hauled their ill friend inside. 

Addie stopped mid-step. “Beg pardon?” 

“We should probably stretch him out,” the blond dwarf told Sigrid, who immediately cleared off the table. The younger dwarf gasped in pain as they laid him on the table, cushioning his head in a basket of walnuts. 

“What’s happened to him?” Addie asked. 

“Arrow wound to the leg,” Fili said. “He seemed better last night, but now it looks like its festering.”

Addie handed the food bag to Tilda. “You, go have something to eat. Sigrid, please get Mr…..

“Kili,” the dwarf whimpered. “At your service.”

“Fili,” the blond dwarf said. 

“Bofur,” the flappy hat dwarf said, bowing. “At your service.”

“Oin,” the older bearded dwarf with the ear trumpet rumbled. “At your service.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, now that everybody is at my service, please get Mr. Kili a proper pillow and some clean sheets. Who cushions someone’s head in a basket of nuts?”

Oin jerked his broad shoulders. 

“I’m going to need to cut his pants away from the wound,” Addie told the blond. “Unless, you think you should do it for modesty’s sake.”

“Do you have any healing training, ma’am?”

“No, I’ve made a hobby of cutting the pants off of dwarves,” she shot back, handing him a pair of shears. “Good thing you’ve recently arrived in the area.”

“Mr. Fili, Addie is the town healer. Your brother couldn’t be in better hands,” Sigrid told him gently. 

“She just gets a bit cranky when she hasn’t had her breakfast,” Tilda called from the kitchen. 

Fili frowned, but nodded, and slowly cut away the right leg of his brother’s trousers, uncovering his wound. Kili hacked and coughed, bringing up great gobs of green, blood-streaked mucus. 

Addie was the only one in the room who didn’t recoil at the smell of the rancid fluids soaking through the bandages. “It’s definitely festered,” she said, carefully peeling the soiled bandage away. The wound was surrounded black streaks, which could only mean blood poisoning. 

“Bain, keep your sister in the kitchen,” Addie said, examining the oozing edges of the wound. “What sort of arrow was he shot with?”

“It was of orc make,” Bofur told her. “Black, with black feathers.”

“Is it possible that it was soaked in some sort of poison?” Addie asked. “Unless your friend has been rolling around in a pig pen, his infection shouldn’t be this far-gone in so little time.”

“I wouldn’t say the orcs are too honorable for it,” Bofur grumbled. 

Addie hummed to herself, rifling through her bags for bandages and the right medicine bottles. “Sigrid, I need you to get some water boiling. If Tilda is able, it would be good to keep her busy chopping some onions. Then I need you to cook down the onions with some garlic.”

“Are you making a soup?” Tilda asked brightly. “For breakfast?”

“I’m making a poultice to draw out the infection,” Addie told her. “Eat your toast.”

Oin told her in his thick brogue. “If you focus on the wound, I’ll work on the fever.”

Addie smiled. “Thank you.” 

While Addie readied the poultice, Oin, instructed Sigrid on the finer points of willow bark tea. Addie ground her herbs together with a bit of clay and ash from the fire.

Holding his brother’s hand, Fili leaned closer to Addie and asked, “Mistress, you mentioned that Bard had been imprisoned?”

“Yes, the Master took Bard into custody after he spoke out against your king’s plans. You didn’t know?”

“I’m sorry to say we didn’t,” Fili said, and to Addie, he sounded sincere. “It was done out of our sight. The Master was nothing but oily politeness to us.”

“I’ll bet,” Addie sighed. “The Master has had it in for Bard for years. Bard speaking out against you gave him all the excuse he needed to lock him away.”

“When my uncle takes back the mountain, we will do all we can to help Bard,” Fili swore. “We wouldn’t be here without his help.”

“Do you honestly think it will be as simple as that?” Addie asked. “Your uncle is going to walk into the mountain, say, ‘Pardon me, Mr. Dragon, you’re evicted. Yes, you’ve had your time here, but out you go. Oh, you don’t fancy leaving? Well, off with your head then.’ With no one hurt? No repercussions for our town?”

“I would like to think not,” Fili said quietly. 

“Has your journey to the mountain gone smoothly as planned so far?” she asked. 

Fili didn’t answer. But he immediately straightened when Sigrid approached with a bowl of cooked onions and garlic.

“Would you mind teaching me how to make a poultice, Addie?” Sigrid asked. “With as often as Bain gets coughs, it couldn’t hurt for me to know how to make them myself. We’d bother you less.”

Addie smiled and showed Sigrid how to construct the bundle of herbs, clay and ash in clean bandages. The poultice with onions and garlic went on Kili’s chest to draw out the congestion from his lungs. She added another poultice with kingsfoil to his leg wound. 

For hours, Oin helped Addie mop at Kili’s forehead, apply fresh gauze to absorb the drainage from his wound, and hold a bowl under Kili’s mouth as he coughed up torrents of tainted mucus. Day turned to night. Sigrid received a quick education in basic wound care and the repercussions of not cleaning or binding a wound properly. Bifur kept Bain and Tilda entertained with his stories. Fili hovered between Kili’s “sick table” and the window, watching for any signs of movement on the mountain. 

Addie noticed lingering smiles from Sigrid whenever she brought Fili tea or food multiple times throughout the day. Fili’s expression was equally warm. Addie only hoped they all survived the next few days, so Addie had the opportunity to worry for her young friend’s heart. 

After the ragtag group enjoyed a quick supper of roasted fish, bread and cheese, Kili fell into a fitful sleep. Fili only relaxed when Addie assured him, “His lungs are clearing up. He’s doing much better now, but it will be touch and go for while. By morning, we’ll know if he’s going to make it through.”

“Thank you, Miss Addie. I won’t forget the service you’ve done for my family.”

Addie glanced over to Sigrid, who had gone out onto the porch to catch a breath of fresh air. “Just … be careful,” 

Fili nodded solemnly. 

Sigrid wandered back into the room and shut the door behind her, only to have the door shoved against her back. A huge monstrous creature with gray skin and twisted goblin features burst into Bard’s house. Sigrid screamed, covering her head with her arms. Bain grabbed Tilda and handed her to Oin, who kept his sister safely in the kitchen. 

Short sword in hand, Bofur cut an intimidating figure, even with the silly hat. He stood between Bain and Tilda and the approaching orc while Fili fought it.

Addie grabbed one of her surgical saws from her kit, unsheathed her dagger and rushed forward, a blade in each hand. Then Fili ran past her and tackle the orc around the waist. Another creature crashed through the ceiling. It smelled of death and sulphur, growling and spitting like a resident of Hell itself.

Startled, Addie flailed her arm out and the monster just happened to step into her swing. The blade caught him in the hollow of his throat and he gurgled. Grunting, Addie stabbed the dagger where she thought the orc’s heart might be. Another orc jumped through the window near where Sigrid was hiding behind a table. She pulled one of the big pans from the stove, slung it at the orc, drenching him in boiling water and smashing him in the face with heated metal. 

A blur of green swept through the door and suddenly a red-haired elf maid had joined the fray. She fought the waves of new orcs with blade and bow, placing herself between the humans and the monsters. Not to be outdone, Fili fought just as fiercely, shoving the orc carcasses out of the house as he finished them off.  
Addie retreated to behind the overturned table, where Sigrid was hovering over an unconscious Kili, trying to keep his leg stable. 

“It’s going to be all right,” she promised Sigrid, just as an orc’s head flopped over the edge of the table. The orc growled and Addie rose, stabbed it in the chest with her surgical blade and ducked back down. 

Sigrid tipped her forehead against Addie’s and Addie tucked her bloodied hand against the back of her neck. They closed their eyes and waited for the horrible sounds of dying orcs to stop. 

“You can come out,” the elf’s clear, bell-like voice sounded.

Tilda came running out of the kitchen, flinging herself at Sigrid. Bain sank against the wall, his face white. Bofur and Ori tossed an orc carcass out the front door, while Fili and Addie righted the table and lifted Kili onto the surface. 

“His leg?” the elf asked Fili, who nodded grimly. 

“Miss Adelinde has done a fine job of binding the wound, but the poison lingers.”

A tall, blond dwarf stepped through the door. “Tauriel, the orcs withdraw, we must follow.”

“Just a moment,” Tauriel said, opening Kili’s bandage to inspect his wound. She looked up to Addie. “You used athelas?”

“Oh, yes, most people around here just feed it to their pigs, but I find it’s very useful for infections.”

"You've done very well, but this is no common poison." Tauriel smiled gently. “If you have more, I could use it to speed along the healing process.”

“Tauriel!” the blond elf barked.

Tauriel yelled something in Sindarin, a language Addie did not understand. The blond stormed out of the house. 

“Of course.” Addie rooted through her kit and found a fresh supply of kings foil. “Sigrid, could you help me for a moment?”

Sigrid frowned, leaving Bain and Sigrid to help the dwarves right the fallen furniture.

“Do you really need my help finding an herb in your bag?” Sigrid asked.

“No, between the dwarves marching on the mountain and the orcs… this doesn’t feel right, Sigrid. I have a bad feeling. I think it would be wise for you to get the largest travel bag you have and pack at least one warm change of clothes for each of you. Any food or medical supplies you could carry with you. Anything small that you absolutely wouldn’t want to leave behind.” 

“What do you think is going to happen?” Sigrid whispered, her eyes wide.

Addie shrugged. “I don’t know. But if it’s nothing, and I’m wrong, no harm done.”

Sigrid nodded and disappeared into the back of the house, while Tauriel placed more kingsfoil around Kili’s wound. 

“I just did that,” Addie told Tauriel. 

Tauriel began chanting in Sindarin, and an ethereal light began to glow from within her skin. 

“I couldn’t do that,” Addie said, shaking her head. Kili opened his eyes and murmured something Addie couldn’t hear to Tauriel. She smiled and Addie realized that there was a reason that Tauriel had defied the blond elf and stayed behind to treat Kili. They felt something for each other and it wasn’t just friendship. 

She glanced over and saw that Fili was helping Sigrid wrap their medical supplies in waterproof oilcloth, smiling and speaking softly to her. 

“I’ll worry about it tomorrow.” She told herself. “Tomorrow will be better.”

And then a tremendous roar rippled across the water and shook the walls of the house.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skimming over some events to get to the Battle.

The monstrous roar finally ceased and Tilda ran for Addie, throwing her arms around Addie’s waist. Even Bain drew a little closer, glancing at the ceiling with dread. 

“What do we do?” Sigrid asked. But Addie noticed that Sigrid was looking at Fili, not her. 

Tilda whimpered into Addie’s side. “Are we going to die?”

Addie cupped Tilda’s chin in her hand. “No, no, your da will not let that happen, I promise.”

“But the dragon is coming,” Bain whispered.

“It’s all right, loves,” Addie swore. “It’s going to be just fine. You’re going to put on your coats and your boots and get those bags you packed up. Right now.”

The girls nodded and headed toward the coat hooks. The dwarves were already packing their weapons while Tauriel was cleaning arrows she’d harvested out of the orc corpses. 

Addie pulled Fili aside to the front porch. “I want you to understand one thing, Master Dwarf. You and your company brought this on our heads, disturbing the dragon. I love those three as much as any mother could. I don’t care what oaths you swore to your kin or king. You will protect Bard’s children. Because if you don’t, no matter where you are or how long it takes, I will hunt you down. I will make you answer for it. The dragon’s wrath will be nothing compared to mine.”

Fili clasped her hand between his own calloused palms and bent his head over their joined fingers. “I swear it.”  
Addie walked into the kitchen and pulled her father’s short-sword from her bag. She pressed it into Bain’s hand. “This was my own Da’s. I can’t think of anyone else I would want to have it. Use it wisely and in defense of your sisters.”

Bain’s bottom lip trembled, but he stilled it with his teeth. “Thank you, Addie.”

“I will see you soon,” she promised. “I’m going to try to free your father. He won’t stand a chance if he’s left in the cells when the dragon comes.”

“I’m coming with you!” Bain exclaimed, dropping his pack on the table.

“Bain, I need you to stay with your sisters. Keep watch over them. With the dwarves and Mistress Tauriel’s help, I want to get in your father’s barge and get to shore. Do you understand?”

“I will see it done,” Tauriel swore.

“But I can help!”

“I know you can,” she said, smiling at him while she stroked the auburn curls away from his face. “But your father would want you to focus on keeping your sisters safe. You’re the only one he would trust with the job.”

Bain looked like he was on the verge of screaming, but he nodded. Addie wrapped a shawl around her head and left her medical bag on the table. Its weight would only slow her down. 

“Your da and I will find you as soon as I can,” she promised, the dishonesty pinching at her heart as she looked on the children’s faces. Fili and Kili stared sadly at her, as if they could hear the uncertainty rumbling through her belly. 

She smiled tremulously and dashed out the door, running down the boardwalk. The town was in chaos. People were screaming about the dragon, dashing to and fro across the walkways, jumping into whatever boat they could find. 

There was no guard posted at the jail door. She scrambled up the stairs and onto the cell landing. “Bard!” she screamed. 

“Addie!” he yelled back, reaching through the bars for her. “They’ve done it! They’ve woken the cursed dragon!”

“I know!” she cried, scanning the wall for the key rings. “I can’t find the keys! The guards must have taken the keyring with them!” 

“They ran out just a few minutes ago. Said they weren’t going to waste their lives guarding a burnt town.”

She grabbed the few items left behind by the guards. “I have an ax and a rope, though I can’t say why they would need either of those things in a jail. Gods bless our incompetent guards.”

He grinned at her. “I can use both. Now get out of here.”

She reached through the bars and grabbed his cold fingers, clasping them in her own. “No, I won’t leave you.” 

He smiled that heartbreaking smile of his, pulling her closer to the bars and pressing his forehead to hers. Her knees sagged and her free hand caught on the collar of his coat. She inhaled sharply, inhaling the smell of peppermint and the pipe tobacco he sometimes indulged in. How could she feel so happy and so terrified at the same time? How could she finally be getting a taste of what she wanted her whole life, when fire and death were waiting to rain down on them from the skies? Bard’s hand slipped from her hair under her chin, clasping her jaw as he held her gaze.

“Adelinde, I need you take care of my children,” he said. “I need to know they’re safe if I’m going to do this.”

“Do what?” she said, shaking her head. “Please, Bard, the dwarves are with the children. And an extremely intimidating elf lady. The children are safe. I want to help you.”

“You are the only person I trust with their safety. Not the dwarves who brought this down on us. I need to know they’re with you. Otherwise, I’ll be distracted. Go!”

She nodded furiously, sliding her arms around his shoulders and holding him tight. 

Words failed her. The hundreds of “I love you’s” she’d stored up over the years, holding them to her heart to keep herself warm and safe from rejection, they stayed lodged in her throat. And all she could do was breathe into the shoulder of his heavy coat while she clung to him. 

She forced herself to let go and push him away. He nodded, smiling sadly as she backed away. “Tell them I love them.”

She closed her eyes and turned away. She opened them when he was out of sight, running down the stairs. Just as she reached the boardwalk, she heard an explosive crunch of wood. She looked up to see Bard chopping through the exterior wall of the jail and sticking his head out of the hole he’d created. Her eyes went wide. He shrugged and looped the rope around a nearby chimney to climb out. 

Addie shook off her shock and scanned the canals for a sign of the children. She spotted the brilliant red hair of an elf in one of the boats. Bain and the girls were in Bard’s barge with Tauriel and the dwarves, just close enough for her to catch up with if she ran. Breathing deep, she sprinted over the boardwalk just in time to see Bain leap from the barge and onto a nearby hoist hook. Sigrid shouted after him, but Bain was running back in the direction of their house. 

“What is he doing?” Addie shouted as the boat drew nearer. 

“Get in! Get in!” Kili shouted. The dwarves steered the boat close enough that she could jump in. Sigird and the redheaded elf caught her hands and steadied her before she could tip the boat. 

“Where is Bain going?” Addie demanded as she fell into an unsteady seat beside Tilda. 

“He said he’s going to help Da,” Tilda said, tears streaking down her cheeks. 

“He’ll be all right,” Addie promised. 

“You don’t know that!” Sigrid said. 

“I have to,” Addie barked at her. “I have to believe it, Sigrid, because otherwise, there’s no point in us running at all. I know you’re scared but we have to hold it together and do what needs to be done. For Tilda’s sake and your own. I'm sorry you're facing this situation, but this is what it means to grow up. It's hard and it's too much to ask of you at your age, but it's what you have to accept.”

Sigrid nodded, wiping at her cheeks. Fili reached over and put one of his large hands on her shoulders. She inhaled sharply and reached behind her to pull out a large lumpy bag. 

Sigrid had remembered to bring her medical bag and her rucksack of clothes and keepsakes with them. Addie threw her around Sigrid’s shoulders. “Oh, my clever girl. My clever, clever girl.” 

 

With Sigrid and Addie helping with the barge, they made it across the lake before most of the other survivors. Just as they reached the shore, they heard a great roar, and turned just in time to see the dragon fell from the sky. 

“Do you think Da and Bain?” Sigrid began, but her voice cracked. Fili put his arm around her.

Tilda burrowed into Addie’s side. 

“If I know your father, he’s just fine. We’ll see him in no time.”

The sun rose and more boats arrived on shore. There were multiple injuries, including burns and bones broken while trying to get away from the dragon. What broke Addie’s heart were the bodies washing up, people she’d known for years, floating lifeless next to the boats. She asked some of the more able-bodied men to move them to land, out of the way, where their families couldn’t see. There would be time for burials later.

The dwarves began packing up their gear and slinging their weapons over their backs. Tilda and Sigrid searched every arriving boat, yelling for their father and Bain. Addie stopped them, hanging her medical bag on her shoulder.

“Instead of wandering the shoreline screaming, we need to find the wounded and see to them. Tell them to gather under that tree, and we’ll determine who needs treatment the most. Everybody else, we need to convince to move away from the water, before they catch their death of cold.”

Tilda raced off to find anyone who had so much as a splinter. Fili took Sigrid’s hands and looked to Addie. “Mistress, I believe we’ve fulfilled our promise to deliver your children safely. I leave them in your hands. We must follow my uncle’s path up the mountain.”

“I discharge you of your duty. Please… just be safe in your endeavors, Master Dwarf. I should be very unhappy if I didn’t see you again soon.” Addie smiled, and gave Sigrid a significant look. 

Fili pulled Sigrid aside and she bent so he could whisper something in her ear. Sigrid looked as if she could laugh or cry. Fili put her hands together and pressed them against his forehead, then kissed her fingers. Behind them, she could see Tauriel and Kili enjoying their own tender goodbye. 

“Tomorrow,” she sighed. “I’ll worry about it tomorrow. Tomorrow will be better.”

Sigrid and Tilda rounded up a good number of wounded. While Sigrid and Addie did what they could to set bones, stich cuts and administer medicine, Tilda ran up and down the shore, shouting for people to move inland and begin gathering firewood. Addie smiled for the first time in hours when she heard tiny Tilda instructing her neighbors to start fires to dry their clothes and warm themselves. She truly was Bard’s daughter. 

Sigrid, however, was quiet and steady, learning as much as she could while dealing with deeply unpleasant injuries. And Bain –

Addie sighed. She couldn’t help but think of the children as a set, checking on all three at once. 

Bain would make it, she promised herself. Any moment, he would appear with that hesitant, but pleased, smile on his face, and tell her that he and his father managed to make it past a dragon completely unscathed. Any minute.

Addie was stitching up Tom Bollsson’s chin (again) when she heard some commotion. She could make out Alfrid screaming about his authority like an angry little girl demanding her share of sweets. 

“Oh, good, Alfrid made it,” Addie muttered to Sigrid as they walked toward the noise. 

Sigrid snickered, but suddenly broke off, “DA!”

Addie’s breath caught as Bard turned and she saw him, wet and worn, but whole. Sigrid and Tilda dashed to him and he swept the girls into his arms. Bain appeared at his side and her eyes burned with residual smoke and tears. Bard grinned at Addie over their heads. She stepped toward him, and he threw his arms around her clutched her to him.  
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and suddenly she was warm all the way down to her toes. He pulled back, cupping her face in his lovely, rough hands. “What you’ve done for me. I’ll never be able to repay it, Addie.”

She pressed her fingers against the hand on her cheek. "I love them, too."

He frowned. "Where are the dwarves?"

But before she could speak, the townsfolk began shouting about Bard shooting the dragon with a black arrow. Bard was their leader, they yelled. Bard was their rightful king. And to her surprise, Alfrid was the loudest of Bard’s supporters. Alfrid was denounced as the Master’s toadie and to blame for everything that had been wrong with Laketown for years. 

“I tried to stop him. begged and I pleaded. I said, ‘Master, no!’ but he wouldn’t listen! Why are you turning on me when we need to focus on survival? Won’t anyone think of the children?” Alfrid said, trying to grab at Tilda. 

But Addie put a hand on his forehead and shoved him away. “Nope.”

The crowd began yelling to hang Alfrid and while Addie couldn’t find reasons to argue against it, she was glad Bard stopped it. She would hate to see her neighbors turn into murderers. Alfred was sent to skulk away and do whatever he did. The townsfolk broke away to gather supplies and prepare for the move. 

“How many wounded do we have?” Bard asked Addie. 

“Dozens. A few will need to be carried on stretchers. But if a few of the boys would make them out of blankets and branches, we should be able to move out in less than an hour."

She opened her bag and took out a portion of dried meat and an apple. She held it out to him, but he shook his head. "I can't, not when everybody else is hungry."

"You slayed a dragon. You need to eat." 

"What about the children?" 

"Your children are well outfitted. They have fresh clothes and food we can share. We even have some dry clothes for you. I have my medical kit. Instead of worrying about our own needs, we can focus on helping all that we can.”

“What would I do without you?” he asked, holding her to his side. For a moment, she allowed herself to relax into him, to let all of the panic and dread she’d been feeling over the last twenty-four hours drain out of her system. She was safe. The people that she loved were safe. They would find a new home in the ruins of Dale. Things would be different from here out. 

She grinned up at him. “Well, you wouldn’t have dry pants.”

For the first time in days, Bard threw his head back and laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

Addie sank onto the stone lip of the infirmary’s hearth, next to Sigrid, who leaned her head against Addie’s shoulder. Tilda, who had been slumped against Sigrid’s right, crawled around to Addie’s other side and leaned into her aching ribs.

“I’m so tired, I can’t feel my feet,” Addie sighed. 

“I’m so tired, I can’t feel my face,” Sigrid added. 

Tilda yawned. “I’m so tired I can’t feel my rump.”

Sigrid and Addie both turned to Tilda and burst into silent giggles, unwilling to wake the patients sleeping in the cavernous dormitory. 

As soon as their party of tired Laketown survivors arrived in Dale, Addie had “requisitioned” Bard’s daughters and sent them to search for the hospital building she’d been told was just down the main thoroughfare, within sight of the Lord’s Hall. 

Tilda had run screaming down the street that she’d found it, pleased to have bested Sigrid in the search. Addie wondered how much staring up at Erebor had hindered Sigrid’s search, but she didn’t want to tax Sigrid’s already taut nerves.

Sigrid, rolling her eyes thoroughly at Tilda’s antics, directed the volunteers carrying the wounded stretchers into the long-unused infirmary. Sigrid and Tilda spent the afternoon feverishly cleaning the space, while Addie checked over her patients. After most of them were settled into a sleep eased by her herbs, Addie began sifting through the ancient supplies to see if there was anything they could salvage. 

By nightfall, the cavernous room was swept, cleaned, and filled with freshly made and occupied cots. Sigrid had assembled a respectable pot of soup and served it in newly washed bowls. It was almost midnight and the three of them were practically collapsed against each other in front of the fire. She put an arm around each girl and squeezed them. 

“Did you get enough to eat?” Addie asked. 

“I saved some dried meat for us,” Tilda said, pulling the dried planks of venison from her pocket. 

“Very thoughtful of you,” Sigrid told her as Tilda distributed the food.

“I’m very proud of you both, rumps aside,” she said as they gnawed on their leathery snack.

Sigrid snorted. 

“You worked very hard today, both of you. I know you were scared and uncertain, but you worked hard anyway. I appreciate it.”

Tilda chewed thoughtfully. “Will Da really be king, Addie?”

“I don’t know,” Addie answered. “Technically, your ancestor, Girion, was Lord of Dale. But on the trek up here, I overheard people saying that if Erebor is going to have a king, Dale should have one, too. And if that happens, you’ll both be princesses, as you deserve.”

Tilda giggled. 

“So you should both go get some sleep, because tomorrow, we’re probably going to have to work even hard than we worked today. And you want Dale’s first memories of their princesses to be of the valiant, tireless efforts that Sigrid the Wise and Tilda the Bold made on behalf of their people, yes?”

They groaned. Sigrid pulled Tilda to her feet. “Come on. I tidied up the healer’s quarters. There’s a room for you as well, Addie. I put blankets on the bed and water for washing on the table.”

Addie winced as she rose to her feet, kissing both their cheeks. “Thank you, love. I’ll be right up.”

Addie spent another half-hour checking each patient. She was about to add the last of their meager firewood to the hearth to keep them warm overnight when she heard footsteps outside. Bard appeared in the doorway. He smiled wearily and she brought a finger to her lips. They moved to the hallway led to the healer’s quarters. 

“The girls just went to bed a little while ago,” she said. “If I’d known you were coming by, I would have held them up, but they were so tired.”

“Oh, no, no, they should rest. They’ll need it in the days to come,” he insisted “I’ll admit, I just wanted to see them with my own eyes. To make sure they’re all right.”

Addie silently opened the door to the girls’ room, showing Bard that they were fast asleep, snuggled up together on the old bed under as many blankets as they could spare. Bard breathed a sigh of relief and put a hand on her shoulder. “I was so frightened, as Laketown burned around me, that I would die before I could see them again. Or worse, that I would survive the dragon, only to find my girls had been taken from me.”

He smiled tenderly at Addie. “I should have known better. I should have known that you would move the heavens to make sure my girls were safe. Bain said you threatened the dwarf prince with wrath beyond the dragon’s, should anything happen to them.”

Addie pressed her lips together. “I may have done.”

“I don’t know what will happen over the next few days, but I’m going to ask you to keep an eye on the girls for me. Keep them close to you. I’ll be able to focus if I know they’re with you.”

“Well, of course, anything for the King of Dale.” She gave a mocking little curtsy and he frowned at her. 

“Don’t call me that,” he sighed. “I have no desire to rule over these people.”

“And that’s exactly why you deserve to rule. Bard, people are looking to you for leadership. And you may not like it, or relish the job, but your guidance will be a lot safer than the Master’s. People could flourish under your decisions. They’d finally have a chance to live with food in their bellies and a solid roof overhead, without constantly looking over their shoulders.”

“If I can get them through the next week.”

“Well, that’s step one of your reign.”

He stared down at her for a long moment, a line of concentration drawn between his brows. His leaned ever so slightly towards her, staring at her full mouth, and her heart swelled into her throat. She’d promised herself, if they both survived the dragon that she would tell him… so many things. But now, she couldn’t seem form words. He brushed her hair back from her face. “I should let you sleep, too. You’re practically dead on your feet.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Alfrid is keeping watch, that should help you rest easy.”

“That’s not funny,” she told him.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Tell the girls I love them when they wake.”

She smiled at him as she closed her bedroom door behind her. She laid out her clean set of clothes, grateful to have something to change into the next morning. She bathed her grimy face and hands. But she stopped midway through taking down her hair for the night. Did Bard call her “sweetheart?”

And, of course, the next morning, an army of elves arrived. And Alfrid didn’t notice.

The elfin army had been a sight to behold, majestic King Thranduil on his elk, riding through the ruined town with his wagons full of goods. Addie couldn’t spend too much time gawking, as the people in the infirmary required her care and Tilda needed managing. But word swept through the camp that Thranduil had promised the survivors of Laketown his aid… in the battle to come. 

A battle, and they’d just barely survived the dragon. Addie had felt fortunate not to have lost any of the wounded overnight. How would she care for the casualties of a battle with her meager supplies?

Addie and the girls worked tirelessly throughout the day to treat the wounded from the dragon raid, and the subsequent training injuries from men who had never held a sword before. They broke late in the afternoon for a simple meal of bread, cheese, and slightly mushy apples, only for the bright peal of a horn to sound outside of the infirmary. 

The great blond elf-king himself swept into her hall in full armor, his red and silver cloak billowing over the cots as he passed. He was joined by a retinue of equally impressive elf soldiers, carrying sacks and crates. The wounded stared up from their beds, not quite sure what to make of this development.

Addie jumped to her feet, her apple rolling under a nearby cot, occupied by old Nan Lapglin. Her thoughts raced back to her days as a novice healer in Rohan. Her first lessons were in the respectful greeting to royalty and proper handwashing techniques. At the moment, all she could remember were the hand-washing techniques, which were not helpful at all. Panicking, she dropped into a curtsy that ended up looking more graceful than it felt. She bowed her head and said as firmly as she could, “Hail, Thranduil, son of Oropher, Elvenking of the Woodland Realm.”

She glanced at the girls from the corner of her eye. Tilda and Sigrid were both goggling at her like she’d just spouted poetry in goblin speak. She jerked her shoulders slightly. 

“Rise, child,” Thranduil purred. “A very pretty greeting. Unexpected in such drab company.”

Addie rose, throwing her shoulders back into a posture so straight it made her ache. “I was trained in Medusheld, where it was common to greet the king amongst his people, visiting the injured rohirrim. My mentor was insistent I learn a proper curtsy.”

“You should teach your own students the same,” Thranduil’s silver eyes caught the firelight as he nodded towards Sigrid and Tilda. 

Though Addie smiled sweetly, there was an edge of acid in her voice as she said, “Yes, well, I’m sorry to say they’ve more critical matters to focus on in the last few days. In times of survival, a monarch must plunge deep into his well of mercy to forgive missed courtesies.” 

Thranduil smirked as the girls bobbed slightly on uncertain feet. But he seemed … amused? Rather than smug, his expression read as if he found her subtle sassing to be entertaining, like the angry batting of a kitten’s paws at the hem of his immaculate robe. “Just so.”

“Do you really ride on an elk?” Tilda asked, just as Sigrid clapped a hand over her mouth. Tilda’s further questions were muffled by her sister’s fingers. Thranduil frowned at them as if they were sideshow creatures at a traveling fair.

Addie cleared her throat. “I thank you for your gifts of food to my people. It will ease us into the coming days.”  
King Thranduil motioned to the soldiers, who carried their packages to the storeroom at the back of the hall. “We would aid you further. These supplies will help you see to your wounded during the battle to come.”

“I take this to mean that your attempt at negotiations with the King Under the Mountain did not go well?” she asked. 

“It did not. Your Lord Bard did his best to reason with the dwarf king, but all for nothing. And now, Mithrandir warns us of a coming threat from an orc army.”

“So we’re trapped between a mountain and a hard place,” Addie sighed. 

“Not quite the place of salvation you hoped for.”

“And what of your wounded?”

Thranduil didn’t snort derisively, but it was a near thing. “I assure you that our healers will see to any wounded we may have.”

“I thank you for your pains on our behalf,” she said. “If there is anything I can do to help repay the debt, please let me know.”

“Your Lord was correct, you are most… discerning,” Thranduil drawled. 

She bowed her head, doubting very much Bard used such a word to describe her. 

Thranduil swept from the room, just as rigid and beautiful as he entered. 

“That was strange,” Sigrid muttered. 

“Decidedly,” Addie said. “Back to work, girls. Visits from condescending royalty is no excuse for lollygagging.”

“Yes, I believe I’ll stitch that onto a sampler, as soon as I have time,” Sigrid snorted, as she turned back to the bandages she’d been rolling before her dinner.

Addie cackled. “You are a secret sass-mouth, Sigrid the Wise.”

Tilda snickered.

Night fell and the three of them were no closer to stopping for the day. There always seemed to be “one more thing” to do before they could rest. Sorting through the elves gifts, sterilizing needles and saws, preparing suture kits. Addie was sure her anxiety over the coming days was keeping her moving, but at least she was being productive. Most of the patients were asleep by the time they finally collapsed near the hearth. 

“I’m so tired, I can’t feel my feet,” Addie sighed. 

“I’m so tired, I can’t feel my face,” Sigrid added, smirking at her sister. 

Tilda yawned. “I’m so tired I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say.”

Addie laughed. “Go on to bed, girls. I’ll finish up here. Things will be better tomorrow.”

Tilda suddenly sprang to her feet. “Mr. Baggins?”

Addie stood see a small child-like figure slowly make his way through the maze of beds. He looked like a fully grown man in his thirties, just Tilda’s height. His bronze curls hung limp around his face and he had a bruise across his cheek.

“Mr. Baggins,” Tilda cried, throwing her arms around the Hobbit’s shoulders. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Mr. Baggins smiled as if it hurt his cheeks and patted Tilda’s back. “I’m glad to see you as well, my dear.”

Tilda dragged him toward the hearth. “Come meet Addie! She wasn’t at our house when you climbed through our toilet.”

“You’re really going to have to explain that to me some day,” Addie told Sigrid. 

Sigrid nodded grimly, but spoke directly to Mr. Baggins. “Why are you with Fi – with the dwarves?” 

“I had business with your father. And with Thranduil. I had an escort.”

He nodded toward the door. In the shadows, with a hood pulled over his golden hair, Addie could just make out Fili’s face. Sigrid gasped and threw a pleading look at Addie. 

“Stay where I can see you, for both our sakes,” Addie said. Sigrid kissed her cheek and sprinted across the infirmary. Fili threw back his hood, all smiles and kissed both of Sigrid’s hands. 

“Not a word,” Addie warned Tilda.

“Bilbo Baggins of Bag End,” the little man said, bowing to Addie. “Gandalf said you might have a look at me. I haven’t quite shaken my cold since Laketown. I believe it’s settled into my chest.”

“Have a seat by the fire,” Addie said, taking her bottles of thyme and honey from her medicine cabinet. She gave Tilda instructions on how to mix them with tea for Bilbo’s cough while she listened to his lugs. Tilda handed him the tea mug, only splashing a little on Addie’s hand. 

“That’s a pretty shirt,” Tilda said, poking his chest. 

“Tilda, don’t poke at people,” Addie said absently as she examined Bilbo’s stuffy nose. 

When Addie moved her hands from his face, Bilbo said, “Yes, it’s mithril. A gift from the King Under the Mountain.”

Addie watched the blush spread to the tips of Bilbo’s ears. Clearly, the King Under the Mountain had begun some sort of courting process with his practical gift of armor. 

“That’s powerful stuff, mithril. My da used to tell me about it, how he always wished he could get his hands on some for his guards.” Addie said as Bilbo took a long drink of his tea. “No blade can pierce it.”

Addie mixed Bain’s special cough syrup and poured it into a blue glass bottle for Bilbo’s return to the mountain. “Twice a day in tea if you can manage it. If there’s no tea, only drink a spoonful. No more.”

Bilbo nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Are there any more?” Tilda asked. “Any more mithril shirts?”

“We’re gonna be fine, Tilda, I promise.” Addie told her. 

“No, I meant for the dwarves or the elves or for Da?” Tilda asked. “They’re about to fight a battle. It would be good for them to have mithril shirts.”

“I’m sure the Durinfolk are smart enough to don impenetrable shirts before going into battle. They must have them by the box-ful in their storage caches.” Addie scoffed. “Right, Mr. Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s mouth flapped open like a trout. 

“The dwarves are choosing not to wear impenetrable armor before going into battle?” Addie said, her eyes narrowing. 

“I don’t think they are,” Bilbo said, draining the rest of his tea cup. “If you’ll excuse me, thank you very much for the medicine. Fili! We must go!”

Fili looked none too thrilled to have his quiet conversation with Sigrid interrupted, but Bilbo grabbed the dwarf’s hood and forcibly dragged him away from the door. Fili barely managed to kiss  
Sigrid’s hand. Sigrid waved, smiling sweetly. 

“Where’s Mr. Bilbo going?”

Addie shrugged. “Must be important if he’s in such a hurry.”

“Did you see that Sigrid and Fili-“

“Nope, not a word,” Addie told her.

“But Sig and Fi-,” 

“Nope.”

“Sig.”

“Nope.”

"You're no fun."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of battle violence

Addie plunged her hands into a bucket of icy water mixed with a disinfectant solution. The natural chemicals stung the tiny abrasions on her palms and fingers, but it had to be done. She scrubbed at her hands, breathing heavily, as the dried blood and grit and gore refused to loosen from her skin. Would her hands ever be clean again?

So many people. So many dead, man, woman, child, dwarf, elf, and it felt like she had the blood of each one crusted on her skin. Her arms were so tired from seeing to them, she wasn’t sure she could lift them from the bucket. The amputations alone…. She swallowed thickly as her gorge rose in her throat. She knew her meager breakfast wasn’t threatening to make a re-appearance over the medical treatments she’d administered that day, with the help of Sigrid, Tilda and a half-dozen able Laketown women. It was the killing. For the first time, she’d intentionally taken life, and it did not suit her. 

The morning had started with such promise. The King Under the Mountain had ridden out of his keep, with Bilbo, on the back of an enormous ram. The princes followed on rams of their own. The company drove wagons full of dwarvish weapons, that looked ancient, but freshly sharpened. Addie couldn’t help but notice every dwarf in the company had a shiny mithril shirt poking out from under their collars. Sigrid practically sagged in relief against Addie’s side, at the sight of Fili’s sparkly battle wear.

As Bilbo looked on, a pale Thorin informed Bard and Thranduil that with help – he paused for a meaningful look at the Hobbit – he’d seen the error of his ways and avoided off the worst of the gold sickness. He would look to the greater good instead of his own pride, and keep his word to the people of Laketown and uphold the original jewelers’ bargain with the elf king. Given his unnatural emphasis on the words, and the way he continued to stare at Bilbo, Addie guessed that these had been the Halfling’s own words yelled at Thorin during a moment of clarity. 

With some gentle prodding from Bard, Thranduil accepted the bargain with good grace. Bard gladly accepted the weapons under the condition that they were on loan from Erebor, not permanent placement. The three leaders retired to Thranduil’s pavilion to discuss strategy.

The swords and spears had barely been placed into the human hands when they heard the horns announcing the impending arrival of the orc troops. The gathered people of Dale went from hopeful to panicked in a matter of seconds. Bard began barking orders. Thranduil and Thorin yelled in their languages to their respective troops. The dwarves roared in approval, running through the elven ranks to get to their assigned positions. Thranduil huffed an exasperated breath and looked skyward as his troops got back into alignment.

Fili ran to Sigrid, kissed her soundly on the mouth and whispered something in her ear before hopping on his ram and running away with Kili. 

Tilda and Addie’s mouths dropped open as Sigrid blushed. Addie clapped her hand over Tilda’s mouth. 

Tilda scowled. “Why does everybody keep doing that!”

“Good reason,” Addie muttered as the stately king of dwarves waded through the stream of men running toward the battle. He had Bilbo’s hand clutched in his. 

“Mistress Flaxen,” Thorin intoned with a bow. 

Brows lifting, Addie dropped into a curtsy. “Hail, Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain.”

The king’s thin lips pursed beneath his short, dark beard. “I am told that you once entrusted the care of your dearest charges to my nephews. I would ask to return the favor.” 

Bilbo protested. “This isn’t necessary, Thorin. I can fight!”

“And what better place to demonstrate your skill than to defend these ladies as they practice the healing arts on our wounded?” Thorin asked gently. “I would know that you are safe, Bilbo, if I am to undertake today’s tasks.”

Addie cleared her throat. “I would feel easier knowing that an able man was near, watching over us.”

Thorin flashed her a grateful expression. Addie self-consciously patted her father’s dagger, threaded through her belt. She knew she wouldn’t be able to do much with it. The orcs she’d managed to kill in Bard’s house had been a fluke born of panic and proximity. But it was a comfort to know the dagger was there. 

“Come on, Mr. Bilbo, you can help me at the suture station!” Tilda said, pulling his arm. “It’s really disgusting! But for once, my big stitches aren’t a problem!”

“He’ll be right along, love. Why don’t you go work on preparing kits while Mr. Bilbo talks to Mr. Thorin, er, His Majesty.”

Tilda nodded, barking orders at the other girls, who were moving the less fragile cases out of the cots and into a storage room, where they could rest during the battle.

Thorin bowed to Sigrid and Addie, then pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s. The Halfling whispered,“You come back to me. How can I finish my tales if you’re not there to tell me what happened during the great clash of Thorin and Azog?”

Thorin nodded solemnly and stormed away, as if he was forcing himself to leave. Across the chaos of the courtyard, she spotted Bard and Bain, rallying their men and assigning posts. He caught Addie’s eye and started to walk towards them, but the orc horn sounded again. He nodded to them and mouthed, “I love you.”  
Addie looked to Sigrid, squeezing her against her side, grateful that the girl got that last bit of affection from her father, if the worst should, … no. She shook off the gloomy thoughts as Bain and Bard ran after their men. They would survive this. They’d survived the Master. They’d survived the dragon. They would survive orcs.

After that, the day was a blur of grief and chaos. Wave after wave of orcs had crashed into the city. Wounded men flooded her hall, to the point that the less serious cases had to be assigned to a large hall across the street, under Hilda and Sigrid’s care. Tilda was kept at Addie’s side, running errands and stitching where the wounds wouldn’t leave her with nightmares. She worked for hours, lost in a tide of blood and screams, with the fighting growing closer every minute. 

People she’d known since she was girl, died under her hands. Husband and sons, wives and daughters, slipped through her fingers, and she just kept working, kept giving orders, because if she stopped, she would never be able to start again. Bilbo helped as best he could, watching Tilda, heating water, mixing medicines.

Sometime in the afternoon, a new fresh wave of screaming rolled into the infirmary and a dozen elves came pouring into the door, crying for help. Addie called for Tilda to clear anyone who could stand to the storage room and directed the worst of the wounded to the cots. 

She ran to the door, only to see Thranduil himself carrying a wounded archer to her feet. Blood dripped down his temple. She caught the archer under his arms as he tumbled forward. “Your Majesty!”

Behind the elf king, a battle raged , orcs attempted to shove their way through the elf ranks to the Market Square. She shook off her terror at the sheer numbers of them, focusing on the king and the elf in her arms. She yelled for help and Gerta and Caryn rushed forward to take the archer from her. 

“My lady, I’m afraid I must ask you to look after our wounded as well as your own. The orc forces flanked, overrunning our camp and destroying our healers’ tent. Our healer, Ganwyn…”

Though his tone was calm, even with the battle roaring around them, an expression of grief crossed his face. She nodded and reached her gore-covered hand out to cover his gloved ones. To her surprise, he didn’t flinch away. Also, she couldn't help but notice he'd taken to calling her, "my lady." “I understand, Your Majesty. I will treat them as my own. Would you like me to see to that cut on your head?”

Before he could answer, a particularly ambitious orc spotted the king and charged them, sword raised over his head. Thranduil shoved her out of the way, sweeping his own blade forward and dispatching the orc in one strike. This caught the attention of other orcs, who rushed toward Thranduil. 

There wasn’t time to dash for the door to the infirmary. Through the opening, she could see Tilda inside, giving one of the elf soldiers water, completely unaware of the orcs running only a few feet away from her. 

“Gerta! Barricade the door!” Addie shouted, pulling her dagger from her belt. The teenager nodded frantically, shutting the doors. Addie could hear the sound of tables and chairs being piled against the wood. She turned the dagger in her right hand, weighing it against the bonesaw in her left.

“I don’t know if this has escaped your attention, my lady,” he called, his back pressed to hers. “But you are now trapped outside in the midst of a battle.”

“I have noticed that, Your Majesty,” she grunted, swiping her bone saw at throat level as an orc ran by, as if he couldn’t even see Addie. Black blood sprayed across her face as the orc jerked back, flopping on to the ground. This maneuver worked again, Addie clothes-lining passing orcs with her blades as they ran at Thranduil. It was as if they couldn’t even see her against the silver of Thranduil’s cloak. Slashing their throats took very little strength as the orcs’ own momentum threw their necks against her knife. Over and over, she compartmentalized it into three motions. Slash, thrust, yank. Slash, thrust, yank. Slash, thrust, yank.

The rush of orcs lulled and Thranduil turned to find her with eight dead orcs at her feet. Panting, Thranduil nodded in approval. “Nicely done, my lady. Now let’s get you back inside.”

“They’ve barricaded the door,” she said, wiping her blades on her skirts as he gently took her arm, leading her around the corner of the infirmary building as if they were approaching a court dance. 

“There is a window, is there not? Hand me your blades, so you don’t land on them.”

“There’s a window on the SECOND floor,” she said, her jaw dropping when he bent and cupped his hands into a stirrup. “What are you doing? You’re not about to fling me into the wall like a sack of grain!”

His lips quirked. “I’m stronger than your men, and I have better aim.”

“None of which matters because I’m not going to let you fling me into the wall like a sack of grain!”

“Really, my lady, I have a battle to fight, I don’t have time for this debate. We can discuss it later.” And with that, he sighed, taking her blades from her, then picking her up around her waist and heaved her up. She shrieked, crossing her arms over her face for the inevitable impact of the stone against her head. But she tumbled through the open window, rolling across the floor like a stone until she smacked into a nearby bed.

“What about my-“ she began but, her dagger and bone saw sailed through the window and embedded themselves into the wooden shutter. 

She sighed, flopping against the floor. “Elves.” 

Addie ran down the stairs to take her place in the infirmary, scrubbing the orc blood from her face and hands as best she could. The fighting went on for hours, spreading further from the city until they felt safe taking the barricades from the doors. 

After the elves arrived, the dwarves brought in their wounded, until there were no more wounded to add to their growing list of patients. The screaming stopped and the children’s crying tapered off, and the elderly slowly filtered out of their hiding places to help put together medicine and meals for those left living. 

Bard and Bain had lived, Sigrid assured her. Bard's eldest had seen her father and brother after the battle, clearing out orc stragglers within the city walls. 

Thorin arrived, with the bedraggled princes at his side. The red haired elf, Tauriel, walked a few paces behind, watching warily from the doorway. Bilbo rushed forward to throw his arms around the King Under the Mountain. Thorin hugged him tight and murmured in his ear that it was time for them to leave. Fili sought out Sigrid, pulling her into his arms, and kissing her long and hard. Sigrid wept with relief, burying her face in his neck. And to Addie's shock, Thorin said nothing. 

“Someone is going to have to tell your father,” Addie told Tilda. Tilda brightened. “Someone who is not you is going to have to tell your father.”

“Are you hurt?” Addie asked Kili. “Do any of you need medical attention?”

Kili shook his head. “The mithril did its job. Good thing Miss Tilda reminded Bilbo of the mithril stores.”

Bilbo turned to them. “Ladies, thank you, for allowing me to feel useful today. I’ll see you soon.”

“We’ll have to have tea sometime that doesn’t involve dying orcs,” Addie told him with a smile.

Thorin bowed his head to her. “I thank you, for the pains you have taken on behalf of my people.”

“It was no pain at all, Your Majesty. Your people complained the least about their injuries,” she said. He grinned. 

“Be sure to tell the elf princess that,” he said.

“I’m not sure I’m on speaking terms with the elf princess,” she muttered. 

Thorin snorted. Hilda laid a hand on Addie’s shoulder. “I left some wash water on the table in your room. You should go get some rest. I’ll watch the wounded overnight. If any one of them worsens, I will wake you, dear.”

Addie nodded. “Thank you.”

And so, Addie found herself scrubbing layers of blood from her skin in a bucket, her hands stinging from lye. In the quiet of her room, stripped of her outer layers of clothing, the fatigue weighed on her shoulders like a living thing. She sipped a bit of water and ate a dried apple and then fell on her bed.

“Tomorrow,” she sighed, barely having the strength to drag the blankets over her. “Tomorrow will be better. If for no other reason than the doubled damned elf king won’t fling me at a wall.”

She slept, deep and nearly dreamless. Nearly dreamless because long after her candle burned down to almost nothing, casting dancing shadows on the walls, she dreamt that Bard walked into her room, his weary, handsome face hovering over her bed. Her eyes fluttered shut as he reached down, stroking her cheek.

He bent, kissing her cheeks and her eyelids, the tip of her nose as he touched his forehead to hers. “Sleep,” he whispered against her lips. 

When her eyes fluttered open, her room was empty and there was no sign of dream Bard. She sniffed, rolling over in bed, and promising herself that she would make herself a sleep draught before bedtime the next night. For the first time in a week, she was sure there was going to be a next day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day! I will admit I wrote this section first, because I was feeling super angsty when I came up with the story idea, for some reason. Settle in, it's about to get a little weepy.

“But my passion is healing, Addie, not politics. I want to be here in the healing hall with you, training with the other girls.”

Addie’s hand bobbled slightly, nearly spilling the essence of nightshade when Sigrid threw her weight against the work table. Addie lifted her brow at Sigrid, who realized she’d crossed a line. Sigrid cleared her throat and straightened the well-made forest green woolen gown. The fabric had been a gift from a trader who’d come to Bard, hoping to re-open trade routes. Well-scrubbed and well-dressed, Sigrid looked every bit the Lady of Dale. She also looked miserable.

“I’m aware of that, Sigrid, but in the absence of a wife for your father, you’re the Lady of Dale. And that means that you have to do more than follow your own passions.”

Tilda chimed in, her cheeks stuffed with a sugar cake from the Lord’s kitchens. Tilda’s gown was a fine blue wool the color of the winter sky, though it was a bit dusty at the hem. “Besides, everybody know your real passion is-”

Addie leveled her with her stern, dark eyes. “No.”

“Fili!” Tilda squeaked. 

“If all you’re going to do is poke fun at your sister while eating food within two feet of me while I’m handling a dangerous poison, I can send you right back to the schoolroom, Tilda the Bold,” Addie told her. 

"I can't believe they got the schoolroom running so quickly." Tilda frowned and shoved the rest of the cake in her mouth, mumbling, “I’ll be good.”

“Thank you,” Addie sighed as she capped her bottle. While most of the injured troops had been released to their families or respective kingdoms, she still had twenty or so patients lingering in her infirmary weeks after the Battle of the Five Armies. The building had been repaired and cleaned as best as the people of Dale could manage. People had slowly filtered into the dwellings that were still livable, while Addie stayed in her little room over the infirmary. Bard had moved his family into Girion’s ancient hall and taken on the full responsibilities as King of Dale. 

She’d barely seen Bard since the battle. He’d been so busy with running the entire kingdom. She’d been busy caring for the ill and wounded, plus training several girls to help her so she might get some sleep within the next year. On the rare occasion she saw him, it was across a room with a crowd of people between them, fighting for his attention. She missed him. The growing distance created by their responsibilities left her unsettled and sad. 

Bard was becoming a different person, the man he was always supposed to be. And while she didn't want to stand in the way of that, she felt the loss of her friend keenly. And she felt selfish for wishing she could go back to the way things were in Laketown, for just one day. 

Addie smiled gently. “Your father is focused on reinforcing the walls, rebuilding homes, arming our men, reestablishing trade routes. As the Lady of Dale, you need to be focusing on food distribution, reopening the market, and making sure the widows and orphans have a roof over their heads. I’m sorry it’s not a task you enjoy but right now there’s no one else for the job.”

“Why don’t you just marry my father and you can do it,” Sigrid suggested sweetly.

Addie rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly. Your father’s a king now, or the closest we’re going to have to one. Dale needs to establish an alliance with another royal family or at least a wealthy city to refill our coffers. Your father can’t waste a match on someone like me.”

“Norman Chinbrand is collecting correspondence from other kingdoms to negotiate for Da’s hand,” Tilda giggled. “Da’s being petitioned like a pretty lady!”

Addie shuddered at the mention of Norman Chinbrand, who had taken up the role of boot-licking toadie since Alfrid was eaten by a mountain troll. Anyone who wanted to petition Bard, had to go through Norman, who had the highest degree of education in town after the death of so many. Norman collected Bard’s letters, organized them by importance, and helped maintain his schedule. Bard didn’t seem to enjoy Norman’s over-solicitous company, but he wouldn’t be able to accomplish what he did without someone managing his days.

While Tilda was delighted with the prospect of her father’s social debut , Sigrid was watching Addie’s face carefully. She smiled, without much of her heart in it. 

“Could you please take these sheets for washing, Tilda?” Sigrid asked, nodding to the basket of linens. “Miss Hilda’s got the village laundry up and running.”

Tilda nodded and dashed toward the door, basket in hand. 

“Are you all right, Addie?” Sigrid asked. 

“I’m fine,” she promised. “I’m just tired.”

“You know, you can put more on the other girls if you need to,” Sigrid said. “Greta’s almost as handy as you are with a needle. And Caryn has almost all of your remedy recipes memorized.”

“I know,” Addie said. “I’m just afraid of what happens when I finally slow down, when I start to think about everything we’ve lost, every person we’ve lost. When I try to start a life here, it becomes real. And I can’t pretend this is all some strange dream.”

“I will admit that walking into my dining room to find Bilbo lecturing Da, King Thorin and King Thranduil on behaving like cooperative adults now that the battle is over instead of ‘puffed up, overgrown toddlers,’ it did have a certain dream-like quality to it,” Sigrid said. 

“I am very sorry that I missed that.”

“You should stop by and see Da sometime soon,” Sigrid told her. “He mentioned the other day how sorry he is that you’ve been too busy to have so much as a cup of tea since the battle. You used to be such friends.”

Addie smiled, without showing her teeth. She didn’t want to admit to Sigrid that she’d tried to visit Bard at the Lord’s Hall several times to discuss the state of the infirmary and the supplies she needed. But each time she’d tried to approach him, Norman Chinbrand had haughtily informed her that King Bard didn’t have time to talk to the likes of her, and that she should just leave her list with him. 

“I happen to know that he’s free this evening. He’s having dinner with a diplomat from Gondor, and I’m sure after that, he’ll be begging for decent company. I’ll tell him to expect you.”

“Are you sure?” Addie asked. “If he’s entertaining marriage offers from other kingdoms, perhaps he should focus on corresponding with those ladies. If nothing else, it would take some responsibilities off of your shoulders.”

“Tilda makes too much of Mr. Chinbrand’s efforts. He’s pushing Da to consider a bride because the candidates’ families are sending ‘gifts’ along with their letters. He’s lining his pockets with their tributes.”

“Does your father know?”

“He knows enough to not trust Mr. Chinbrand with his personal seal. Or Girion of Dale’s personal seal, which Da found in a flower pot on the window sill in the old hall.”

Addie shuddered. “All right, then. I’ll visit after dinner.”

Hours later, after the last of her patients had fallen asleep, Addie was not left with a lot of choices for dresses. She had the two work-day gowns she’d brought from Laketown. One was clean. One was not. So she chose the one that was clean, a drab gray-brown wool that did nothing for her figure or complexion. But Bard had seen her wear it a dozen times, there was no hiding it now. Looking in the small glass Tilda had salvaged from the Lord’s Hall, she smoothed her dark hair and pinched a bit of color into her cheeks. 

“This is, sadly, as good as it will get,” she sighed, tightening her shawl around her shoulders. 

Trudging through the dark streets of Dale, Addie listened to the chatter and laughter and music of families gathering at the end of their day. She was actually a bit excited to have a reason to visit the Lord’s Hall. Girion’s keep was one of the few buildings in town left totally intact, down to the ornate carvings of stags leaping on the mantelpiece. It was nice to see a place that was normal, beautiful. It made her feel that one day, the whole town would be restored to its former glory. 

She knocked on the massive oak door and was surprised that Norman Chinbrand didn’t answer. He was always lurking about, his greasy blond hair hanging around his ears as he sneered at Addie’s dirtied clothes. 

She entered the hall, smiling at the enormous fire in the host’s hearth. She walked past the receiving area where Bard would sit in the Lord’s chair to hear citizens’ complaints. She walked through the dining hall, where Percy sat dozing against the huge oak table. The moment he heard her footsteps, he leapt up, coughing and hacking. “I’m awake! I’m awake!”

“It’s all right, Percy,” she assured him. “I just needed to see Bard.”

Percy grinned. “Oh, Addie, it feels like an age since I’ve seen you.”

“Bard is lucky to have you watching out for him.”

“Someone needs to,” Percy grumbled. “Would you like me to announce you? Norman usually takes care of it, but he’s away somewhere, soothing some dip-lo-mat’s ruffled feathers.”

“I’m sure I can just knock on the door,” Addie said. “Are the children in bed already?”

“Aye. He’s down the hall. Just try to cheer him up a little, would you? The meeting with the Gondorian did not go well.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Addie walked down the long stone hallway, to the Lord’s study. Bard was seated at a large, recently polished wooden desk, his head in his hands, shuffling through papers on his desk. The worn coat was gone and he was wearing a proper doublet of black with gold stitching. His hair was combed back and his beard was neatly trimmed. She suddenly felt very grubby in her plain woolen skirt and apron. She wondered if the doublet was some a gift from Erebor, perhaps a gift from some queen candidate’s family?

He looked up as she walked in and gave her a weak smile, more of an upward flick of a lips than a true expression of happiness. “Addie, I’m glad to see you, but I’m very tired. Can I come see you tomorrow? I’m sorry to say, I’m not at my best at the moment.”

Confusion wrinkled her brow. Had Sigrid not told Bard that she would be stopping by? Or was this his polite way of turning away a friend he’d outgrown. She cleared her throat. Even without the social aspect of her visit, she still needed his ear. And it was his job to listen. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, Bard, but I need to speak to you about the condition of the infirmary, which I’m sorry to say, are less than ideal. We’re going to need-”

He scrubbed his hand across his face, groaning, “I’m sorry, Addie, it will have to be later.”

“But this is the third time I’ve tried to talk to you about this. Norman’s turned me away every time.” 

He barked, “I said I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“I really can’t keep coming back only to be turned away. I have patients that need me. I may not have a title, but my time is just as valuable as yours.”

“Not now, Adelinde!” Bard shouted, standing and slapping his palm against the desk. “I would just like to go five minutes together without someone marching in here and telling me what they need from me. Just five minutes peace. Is that too much to ask? I just want to be left alone!”

The hurt that she felt, the jagged, hot pain that ripped through her, kept the bile in her throat. In the coldest, most formal voice she’d ever used in his presence, she seethed, “Understood. I’ll write you a list of what we need, since that seems to be all you have time for. Pardon me for taking up so much of your attention, Your Majesty.”

Breathing deeply through her nose, she bobbed a deep curtsy. Then she turned on her heel and stalked out of his office. She stormed past Percy, ignoring his calls. Her anger, the hurt burning through her like acid, propelled her down the street. The same sounds that had cheered her on her walk to Bard’s, seemed to mock her now. Everywhere she turned, there were families together, still poor and ragged, but sharing meals and talking, and happy to be together. 

Addie walked to the medicine cabinet and used a precious scrap of paper to make a list of every single item she needed. She certainly didn’t want to bother him with a second list. She shoved the list in her pocket and stomped up the steps until she met Hilda, just outside of her room. 

The older woman smiled wearily. Addie knew that Hilda had not only taken on running the community kitchen, but the laundry that washed the infirmary’s linens. If there was a woman in town who could be more weary than Addie, it was Hilda. Addie softened her expression. Hilda didn’t deserve her anger after everything she’d done. 

“Addie, dear, I left your dinner tray on your desk. It’s a bit light, I’m afraid, we dished yours up last to make sure it was warm for you, and there wasn’t much left after we fed the watchmen and the widows and orphans. But some of the boys took down a deer today, so there’s going to be roast venison tomorrow!” 

“Thank you, Hilda,” she said, slipping the scrap of paper out of her pocket. “Could you take this to Percy on the way home? Make sure that … the King gets it?”

“Of course, dear. Get some rest. You’re looking a bit ill. We can’t have our healer laid out sick. Who will heal the healer?”

“I will.”

Wearing and low, Addie walked into her room to find a covered soup bowl, a mug of milk and some dark bread on her little table. She slumped into her chair, sniffing as she lifted the clean cloth from her bowl. 

It was filled with some watery chicken broth and a few bits of carrot. She’d been left with the dregs again. A dragon had fallen from the sky and her life hadn’t changed. She had no one to love. She had no family. She had nothing to call her own. And she seemed to have lost Bard’s friendship. Clearly, now that he was king, he didn’t have time for her. And since he was being courted by rich, beautiful women from distant lands, he couldn’t be bothered to… He didn’t want…

It was better this way, she decided. Bard needed a queen who would provide much needed wealth for the city. She couldn't watch him marry another with her foolish, one-side love for him festering in her heart. Better that he'd burned it out of her tonight, like cauterizing a wound. She would hurt for a while, but she hoped one day she would be free of the infection. She'd been so stupid, to think he'd ever cared for her. He'd had years to act, to move beyond their friendship, and he'd never been inspired to do more than kiss her forehead. She'd held onto a beautiful, stupid dream for years, because she was too pathetic to see the truth. 

She picked at the bread on the plate, her throat closing up at the thought of putting anything in her mouth. Setting the bread aside, she took deep breaths and forced the broth down her throat. There was no room for wastefulness in Dale.

Still dressed in her gown, she blew out her candle and laid her head on her pillow. 

“Tomorrow," she promised herself. "Tomorrow … will be better… it will be….” Her breath caught and she buried her face in her hands, weeping until her heart broke under its own weight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. It's a slow burn. I swear things get more, um, interesting, in the next chapter.

It didn't take long for her to come up with a solution. 

Norwyn, Addie’s mentor in Rohan, had written months before Smaug’s flight, offering her a position at a school for healers funded by the Queen of Rohan. But she hadn’t even considered it because she hadn’t wanted to leave … Laketown. With a letter sent to Rohan by way of Thorin’s messengers, a boon he was more than willing to grant her for keeping Bilbo safe and treating his people, Addie had plans in place. Now she just had to gather the nerve to put them into action. 

A grey winter’s morning just before Thorin’s coronation found her surrounded by crumpled scraps of paper. She scratched a signature across the bottom of the paper and read her latest draft. 

“To His Majesty, the King of Dale,  
Please consider this my official resignation as healer of Dale. I feel I am no longer the best person to fill the position. Please consider Gerta or Caryn to take my place. They have received basic training from me and I have agreed to leave what tools and supplies I have in their possession. I plan to depart the city within a week to take another position in Rohan.  
I am very grateful to have had the opportunity to serve Dale and its people.  
Sincerely,  
Adelinde Flaxen

Other drafts had been angrier, and by turns, more apologetic. But, honestly, she didn’t know why she was bothering with a letter in the first place. She could just ride away. She didn’t owe anyone anything. Maybe she was trying to give Bard one last chance to redeem himself. Maybe she was an enormous fool.

But as she was out of paper scraps, this draft was going to have to do. 

She pulled her grey wool shawl over her shoulders and walked into the streets of Dale. She felt like she’d aged a century since that fateful night in Bard's study. She’d expected to wake up the next morning, weighed down by sadness and regret, but instead she was angry. Angry at Bard for being happy to accept her help at every opportunity for years, but turning on her like she was an ill-behaved dog the moment he was under any stress, the moment he had access to something BETTER. Angry at herself, for loving someone for so long with no sign that there was any hope. Angry at herself for throwing years of her life away. 

She’d not seen or spoken to Bard since, which told her all she needed to know about his state of remorse. 

She smiled politely at man, elf and dwarf alike to who called greetings to her as she walked down the street. Most of them were her former patients, who were now helping the rebuilding effort. Dale was finally shaping up into a settlement finer than Laketown had been. And with no Master… or Alfrid… which was an incalculable advantage. 

She arrived at the Lord’s Hall, grimacing when she saw Norman Chinbrand standing at the host’s hearth. Norman was only slightly more handsome than Alfrid, which wasn’t saying much. He was built like a vulture, all long limbs and bony angles, with a long, crooked nose and a receding chin. His greasy blond hair swung over his face as he sneered down at her. “I’ve told you before, Adelinde Flaxen. His Majesty doesn’t have time for the likes of you.” 

Addie pulled her sealed letter from her pocket, but Sigrid came around the corner of the hall. She beamed at the sight of Addie, rushing forward and kissing Addie’s cheek. “Addie! Are you here to talk to Da?”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. But I have to get back to the infirmary quickly, I’m teaching the girls poultice recipes this morning. Would you like to come by and give them the finer points?”

Sigrid laughed. “I’m off to speak to the merchants, about the official reopening of the marketplace. But I’ll stop by if I have time.”

Addie winked at her. “Good girl.”

Addie noted that Sigrid, one of the most polite girls she’d ever known, neither acknowledged Norman or bid him good day before leaving. She wondered what Norman had done to deserve such a snub. Given the way Norman licked his lips, staring at Sigrid’s backside as she walked away, Addie was not comforted by the possibilities.

He smirked at her. “You have so many lithe, lovely students, Mistress. Perhaps I could stop by and show them a thing or two.”

Smiling viciously, Addie whipped out the dagger she’d taken to wearing at her hip and pressed it against his thigh. She leaned in close, as if she was whispering a pleasant secret in his ear.

“I teach my girls many things, Norman. For instance, did you know there’s an artery right there in a man's leg, an artery that carries a good deal of your blood through your body. And if I were to cut it, which I am more than able to do in this position, you would bleed out and die within… oh, a handful of minutes. So quickly in fact that no one would be able to help you, even if they heard your cries for help. Would you like to test the theory?”

Norman swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “No.”

“Considering how well I teach my girls, I would be very, very careful you speak or behave towards anyone in my charge. I would be careful how you even looked at them. And that includes the Lady Sigrid and the Lady Tilda. Understood?”

He nodded. 

She held up the note and presented it to him. “Now, you asked me to present King Bard with lists and notes instead of my presence. And I have followed your instructions. Wasn’t that considerate of me?”

He nodded again. 

“And will you give it to him in a timely manner?”

“I will.”

“Don’t make me repeat this lesson, Norman.”

Addie felt moderately better, walking back to the infirmary. Maybe Tauriel was right, she would feel better if she went out and hit something. That seemed to be Tauriel’s solution to most problems. 

Over the next few days, a retinue from Mirkwood arrived and camped out on the outskirts of town, preparing to make the trip up the mountain with King Bard’s envoy for Thorin’s coronation. There were also rumors of a certain announcement regarding Princess Sigrid and Prince Fili, something Sigrid would only blush and demure about when Addie asked. Of course, the Fili showed up and kissed her, whisking her away to Erebor for an official visit to his kingdom. 

The infirmary’d had so many visitors over the days before the ceremony. Ori, the most adorable of the dwarves, took tea with her every other day. Legolas, who seemed far less grim these days, stopped by to bring her bandages made from spider silk they’d collected from trees in his realm. Bilbo brought her a lovely Hobbit “pre-lunch” meal he called “elevensies,” which involved milky tea, toast and fruit. Kili and Fili visited, but of course, it was just an excuse to see their sweethearts. 

Sigrid had in fact, opened the markets. And a steady trickle of food, fabric and other goods was making its way into Dale. In her rare free moments, Addie enjoyed walking through the stalls, mulling over the fruits and vegetables available, simply for the pleasure of knowing she had options. And then she would bring those fruits and vegetables back to her patients, because they needed to eat something that wasn’t soup. This morning, she was carrying a basket full of parsnips, which Caryn would turn into a delicious, buttery mash. Sweet-faced, petite Caryn had a skill in the kitchen that translated in nurturing her charges. They were all the better for it.

“Addie?”

Addie cringed. She’d been so caught up in imagining what Caryn could do with potatoes and sage that she hadn’t realized she’d walked right past Bard. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath before turning back to him. 

She made a very formal curtsy, bowing her head. “Your Majesty? How might I serve you?” 

“Could you come here, please?” he asked, his lips quirked into the little amused smile she’d once loved so much.

Her heart sank just a little when she realized he didn’t object to the formality, but she shored herself up. She could do this. She was strong. She was capable. Most of all, she was incandescently angry with him. 

Even if he did look very handsome in dark green wool that emphasized the depths of his eyes. 

“Yes, Your Majesty?” she said, her voice cold and clean as crystal.

Bard cleared his throat. “I was hoping to speak to you about the other night. I hope that you don't misunderstand-”

She interrupted him. “I left some correspondence for you, Your Majesty. Have you had a chance to review it?”

“Correspondence.” Bard frowned. “Yes, I did. And you don’t have to keep calling me, ‘Your Majesty,’ Addie. Your point is made. I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you. I should have apologized sooner, but when you walked into my study, I was dealing with a rogue pack of orcs looting what’s left of Laketown and that required my-”

“And do you have any thoughts in response to my correspondence?” she asked, interrupting again.

“Of the … well, yes, anything you think is best,” he said, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Why would I question you?”

“I see,” she said, nodding, even as her heart seemed to collapse into dust. She’d left him a letter stating she was leaving and his response was “anything you think is best?” He didn’t care at all. Her best friend, the person whose kindness she’d held above all others, because she believed it a rare sincere spot in Laketown’s misery, couldn’t be bothered to be sad at her departure. Maybe he was even eager to get rid of her. 

Who wanted a moon-eyed old maid hanging around, when he was trying to woo pretty heiresses from other kingdoms? 

She gritted her teeth and gave a frosty smile, that made him step back ever so slightly. “Well, if that’s all, I should be getting back to the infirmary.”

“All right. But Addie, please know, I would never speak to you like that under normal circumstances. I won’t happen again.” 

“I’m sure,” she said, turning her back on him. “Because there won’t be an opportunity.” 

She walked away, her stomach sinking with every step. 

“Adelinde,” he called after her. “I do hope you know how much we appreciate everything you’ve done for Dale.”

She stopped without looking back. “Yes, thank you.”

She sped through the streets and arrived to find elf guards standing attention outside her doors. Both bowed in her presence and greeted her as “my lady.”

“Boys,” she sighed, smiling fondly. “We’ve talked about this. You don’t have to call me, ‘my lady.’ Halflar, you’ve thrown up on me, multiple times. And I’ve stitched up an arrow wound on your left buttock, Orym. I think that makes us friends.”

“King Thranduil has declared that you will be treated with all due reverence, my lady.”

“Do you think he could pass along the message to my own people?” she muttered, as they opened the doors for her.

While poor Gerta scrambled around the hall, cleaning everything in sight, out of her mind in anxiety from royal elves, Thranduil was calmly sitting at the bedside of Delfir. He spoke quietly to the archer who had received a devastating sword wound to his thigh. He was only recently able to get on his feet, and had suffered considerable depression, at the idea of losing his abilities as a soldier. Only Tilda’s pervasive cheerfulness and insistence that Delfir play jacks with her was able to pull him out of his doldrums. 

Thranduil squeezed Delfir’s hand and rose, his gaze focused on Addie. 

“Hail, King Thranduil,” she said, dropping a deep curtsy. “Ruler of Mirkwood, flinger of innocent healers towards conveniently open windows.”

To her surprise, the elf king smiled warmly and stretched his hands out as he crossed the room to greet her. He clasped her hands between his and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “It gladdens my heart to see you, my lady. And I will trust that you remember that flinging you towards that window did, in fact, save your life.”

Addie snickered as he tucked her hand into his elbow, the strength of his arm comforting through the silver silk of his fine robe. He walked out of the infirmary, towards his camp. Halflar and Orym fell in step behind them. “How do you find Delfir and Andwuin, the spearman with the broken ribs?” 

“Faring very well, thanks to you. Though I believe they will be happy to join our cortege as we travel home, after the coronation. You have done great service to my people. Without your help, we would have lost many more elves. We are in your debt.”

“You were helping my people survive a five-army siege, what else could I have done?”

“You could have walked away, tended only to your own people.”

“No, as a matter fact, I couldn’t. I know you’ve had upsetting experiences with my kind in the past, Your Majesty, but we’re not all selfish and stupid. Just like all elves are not aloof and ridiculously assured in their superiority.”

He snorted. 

“You could have left Dale to suffer and die under the crush of the orc forces, but you didn’t. And don’t tell me that you only did it for the sake of a necklace. I would never disrespect the memory of your late queen, but I don’t think you would have risked what you did for a handful of gems. You wanted to do the right thing. You wanted to heal the rift between your nations. And that’s why you’re a good king.”

He inclined his head to her. “Thank you, my lady.”

“That and your magnificent golden locks.”

He stared into the distance, intentionally majestic. “People underestimate the power of a monarch’s hair.”

Addie giggled. 

“It is good to hear you laugh, my lady,” he said quietly, as they approached his silver pavilion. “I sense a great sadness in you, that wasn’t there, even in a time of war. What has happened to you in the time I have been distracted by matters of state?”

“That’s… there’s nothing wrong. I’m just tired. We’ve been through so much, it’s expected that I would be low in spirits. Nearly everyone here has some sadness or the other.”

A pair of human children ran by, screaming in delight as they played with a leather ball. 

“Others seem to have pulled themselves out of their melancholy.”

“They’re children, Your Majesty.”

An old man rode by on a donkey, loaded with pumpkins, singing a tavern song at the top of his lungs. Addie grimaced. 

Halflar and Orym pulled open the entrance of the tent, revealing the most luxurious room she’d ever seen. An ornately carved wooden throne sat on a carpeted dais on the far side of the tent. An inlaid table was covered silk, boasting silver ewers and chalices full of wine. A golden harp sat in the corner, near a bathing tub made of copper and a looking glass the size of a canoe. 

“How do you travel with all of this?”

He sniffed. “An elf king cannot be expected to visit his peers without a few creature comforts.”

“You are not merely low in spirits." And He pulled a chair away from the table. “Please sit, my lady. Tell me your troubles.”

“I don’t have any troubles,” she insisted as he slid the chair under her. “But I do have a request.”

“Name it,” he said, pouring her a cup of wine. “Anything that is within my power, I will give you.”

She nodded, sipping the sweet, rich wine and relishing its warmth in her throat. “I understand that within the next week, Prince Legolas is leading an envoy to Rivendell by way of Rohan. I was hoping I might be able to ride along. I understand that I would be responsible for my own food and horse and keep. I only ask for company. As you can imagine, with all of the rogue orcs wandering the countryside, I wouldn’t feel comfortable traveling alone.”

Thranduil’s dark brows knitted together. “Of course, my elves would welcome you in their company. But I’m afraid I can’t guarantee you passage home, my lady, because we don’t know when that envoy will be returning. It could be a matter of months or even years. Time passes differently for the elves.”

“Oh, there will be no return trip.”

Thranduil did not, in fact, spit wine down the front of his robes, but he did look startled, which almost had the same effect. “I beg your pardon, my lady?”

“I am relocating to Rohan. My mentor has taken over a sort of training school for healers at Medusheld and she has offered me a position there as a teacher. I think, after everything that’s happened, and everything that is to come, it’s best that I leave Dale, make my life somewhere else.”

“Have you informed your own King Bard of your plans?”

She raised her chin, ever so slightly. “I have.”

“And his response?”

“Was minimal,” she said, pressing her lips together and keeping her face impassive. 

Thranduil tilted his head and studied her face. After a long moment, he smiled and sipped his own wine. “Well, I must insist that you return to Mirkwood when we return in three days hence, so you might be our guest for the festival of the first snow.”

“I thought Tauriel said you just celebrated the festival of starlight.”

Thranduil smirked. “We have many festivals.”

“In that case, I would be honored.”

He raised his chalice and they clinked their cups together. They talked of details, of what Addie should bring for the long journey ahead of her, of their homelands. A delightful hour passed in which Addie forgot about the world outside the tent, and simply enjoyed the King’s company. But when the afternoon light shone through the silk ceiling, Addie thanked him for his time and made to leave. Thranduil summoned his guards to escort her back. 

As she was leaving the tent, he called her name. The rare familiarity made her turn back to him. “Whatever he has done, I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She smiled, but the expression was a pale imitation of her usual sunny mirth. “I think that makes it worse, instead of better, don’t you?”


	9. Chapter 9

“I don’t want you to go,” Tilda sighed, pressing her face into Addie’s ribs. “I’m going to miss you too much!”  
Addie smiled and stroked her hands over Tilda’s carefully braided hair. She’d avoided telling the girls about her leaving until the last moment, fearing this reaction. It was a cowardly thing to do, but it was all she had the heart for. “I’ll miss you, too, darling. But people in Rohan need me. They need people who will be healers in the years to come. I’ll write to you every week. And soon, if Norman Chinbrand's plans come to fruition, you'll have a new stepmother soon who you'll like even more than me. You'll have the mother you've always wanted. And when you’re older, you can come visit me, show me how much better you’re getting at stitching people up.”

Tilda sniffed and patted her fingers over the fine workmanship of Addie’s new leather riding coat, a gift from the elven archers. Ever since Thranduil announced her invitation to the Rivendell envoy, members of the elven camp had been delivering gifts to the infirmary. Gifts that would make her journey to Rohan easier – leather riding gloves from Orym, a thick woolen riding habit in a beautiful lilac color from Delphir, sturdy boots from Halfar. With her dark hair braided back into the silver combs Thranduil had given her, she could almost be mistaken for a proper elf lady. 

The few belongings she had left from Laketown, she’d packed into her rucksack, which was waiting on the hearth, ready to leave that day with the retreating elven retinue.

“Da didn’t say anything to try to make you stay?” Sigrid asked, her eyes hot and bright with tears she’d been holding back most of the morning. 

“No, he didn’t,” Addie said, holding Tilda tight. “And that’s fine. It’s not his job to keep me here. You girls are more than capable of taking my place.”

“It’s his job to act like a decent man and at least talk to a friend who has helped him for years. Who stood by him before he was the High and Mighty King of Dale.”

“Don’t be angry with your father,” Addie said, opening her arms to her. “He’s choosing his path in life and I’m choosing mine. You’re a strong girl, Sigrid. And more importantly, you are kind and wise and good. You’ve made a wonderful Lady of Dale and you’ll be an even better Queen Under the Mountain.”

“Nothing is official yet,” Sigrid shushed her, smiling. While she had been invited to attend Thorin's coronation, she'd chosen to stay in Dale. Sigrid had been seated at Fili's side in front of the entire drawven court, to declare her future role under the mountain.   
“Because it will be announced next week,” Addie teased. “You’re going to have an amazing life. I’m so proud of you.”

Sigrid sniffed, wiping at her eyes. “I’ll write to you, whenever I have a question. And I will issue it as a royal edict, so you have to answer.”

“I’ll always answer,” Addie promised. “No matter what.”

Orym stuck his fair head through the door and grinned at Addie. “It’s time, my lady. The king approaches.”

“That’s my cue,” Addie said, wiping at her wet cheeks. “I love you both, so much. Please tell Bain I said goodbye. And Fili and Kili. I know they’re all busy.”

“They’re busy trying to keep Thorin from losing his mind,” Sigrid said. 

“He’s very unhappy that Mr. Bilbo is planning to go back to the Shire,” Tilda said solemnly. When Sigrid and Addie sent her surprised looks, she scoffed. “I’m young, but I’m not stupid. I know what love looks like.”

“Of course you do, sweetheart,” Addie kissed her forehead. 

“Lady Adelinde,” Orym said gently.

“I’m coming,” she said, kissing Tilda’s cheek. “I love you.”

Tilda sniffed, nodding, as Sigrid handed Addie’s pack to Orym.

Addie took Orym’s offered hand and walked out of the infirmary. The Elvenking was riding down the main street, astride his elk, his retinue of elves at his back. It was almost as impressive a sight as it had been when he first rode into town all those weeks before. 

Thranduil leapt nimbly from his mount, and swept into a graceful bow. His troops and guards, bowed their heads in unison. “Lady Adelinde, we would be honored if you would join us on our journey home.”

She curtsied deeply. “I would be pleased to, Your Majesty…” she glanced around as she rose. “But I can’t seem to locate my horse, who was tied up here, just a moment ago.”

“A creaky nag not good enough for your seat, my lady,” Thranduil told her. 

“Leave my seat out of this,” she told him quietly. “I traded two chickens and a bushel of onions for that horse.”

“And I’m sure she will be very happy giving rides to the children at the orphanage play-yard, which is where I left her this morning,” Thranduil replied, smirking. “My son would offer you a more worthy mount.”

“That sounds so wrong,” Addie muttered as Legolas led forward a beautiful filly in a dark chestnut color. 

Legolas bowed as he placed the fine leather reins in her hand. “It seems that every other elf in our camp has offered you a gift. I hope this makes up for my late addition.”

“Thank you, my prince.” She curtsied to Legolas, who had indeed been very reticent toward the human healer, especially after Addie had given her support to Kili and Tauriel’s betrothal. But as he visited Mirkwood’s wounded in her infirmary, he was slowly coming to a thaw. She petted the horse’s downy nose gently. “She is truly beautiful.”

“Her name is Thinelroch. It means Evening Star. The saddle is from my father,” Legolas noted, helping Addie place her foot in the stirrup. “You’ll notice his mark.” 

Addie saw the Mirkwood crest – an elk whose antlers became elegantly twisted tree limbs – stamped in a repeated motif all over the saddle- and snorted. “I can’t help but notice.”

“My father wants it known that you travel under his protection,” Legolas said as Thranduil returned to his elk. Addie swung her bottom into the saddle with more grace than she’d hoped for. “I know not what magic you are working on his heart-”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” she promised quietly. “I have no designs on any crown, human, elf or otherwise.”

Legolas smiled at her for the first time. “I was not implying that, Lady Adelinde. The invitation to our realm, the gifts, this saddle. It’s as much as my father would do for any daughter. He wants you to be happy. And it’s more than he’s cared for anything in years. Whatever you are doing, please, keep doing it.”

She smiled back, and took the reins into her hand, straightening in the saddle. She blew a kiss to the girls, who were waving from the door. She took a deep breath. She could do this. She could ride away from Dale. It wasn’t home. She was going to make a new home for herself, far from here. She could be strong. 

The retinue moved forward at Thranduil’s command. She kicked Evening Star gently and kept pace with Orym and Halfar, who told her of the beauties of their home, the wonders of the festival of the first snow. She was so caught up in their merry stories that Dale had passed out of sight before she realized it. 

Hours later, just before sunset, Addie was led into Thranduil’s court and introduced as an honored guest. Even in her new riding clothes, Addie felt quite dowdy compared to the lithesome, ethereal elf women. But many of them glanced at her with envy, when they saw the casual warmth Addie was shown by Thranduil and Legolas. She decided to be very wary of all of them, until she could get out of court and on the road to Rohan.

Addie was shown into an airy chamber in what her maid, Lithwin, assured her was the family wing, an honor for anyone, but especially a human. The bed would have occupied most of her house in Laketown, and was covered in a blanket so soft it felt like a cloud. A huge bathing tub was situated under a milky glass window to her left. It was filled with steaming water that smelled of lavender. 

“I’ve been instructed to bring you a supper tray after your bath and let you go to bed as soon as possible. His Majesty does not believe you have been resting or eating properly. He wants you to partake heavily of both while you are here.”

“His Majesty is very kind, but should mind his own business,” Addie sighed.

Lithwin’s jaw dropped open. 

“I must be very tired to speak of the king in such an informal manner,” Addie said, biting her lips. 

Addie slept for nearly three days. After her bath, she felt truly clean, fed and warm for the first time in… she couldn’t remember how long, and climbed under the covers of the elven bed, and felt like she’d been dosed with milk of the poppy. She wasn’t entirely sure Lithwin hadn’t slipped something into her wine. Still, she knew her body had needed the rest, so she didn’t resent it. 

She woke up to Lithwin sitting in the corner of her chamber, embroidering. Lithwin helped her into a blue watered silk gown and twisted her hair into a complicated braid crown. She led her into a silver chamber and invited her to take tea and elven pastries by a reflecting pool. It was lovely and quiet in this chamber, and the sound of the trickling water was somehow soothing. 

Charmed by its simplicity, Addie laid down by the pool and watched the ripples form across its surface. Even lying here on the cold marble floor, she felt more at peace here in the elven kingdom than she had in years. It saddened her that it took removing herself from everyone she knew to reach this state of calm.

“Lithwin said you slept for a good while, though I still doubt it was enough.”

She lifted her head to find Thranduil sitting on a nearby bench, his silver robes draped elegantly around him.

“It’s a little unnerving how quietly you are able to move,” she told him. “And I slept better than I have in years, thank you.”

He grinned at her and slid down to sit next to her. He dragged his fingers just above the surface of the water, not quite touching it. “The sadness is still there. I would take it from you if I could.”

“I’m afraid that you can’t. It’s there. And humans tend to hold onto their sadness tenaciously.”

“Especially the tenacious human in front of me,” he noted. 

She smiled. “Well, as you’ve pointed out, humans also have short attention spans, so once I’ve wallowed for, oh, a few years, I’ll get over it. I’ve lost nothing. It never counted as mine in the first place. And it’s silly and self-indulgent for me to be upset over it now. But I’m afraid I don’t have the eons of experience and wisdom as you do, to ease me past it.”

"Did you love King Bard very much?"

"For most of my life," she told him, smiling sadly. "But he loved his wife. And I respected that. You would hope for that, I think, in the man you loved. But soon, the cheerful obliviousness to the fact that I am in fact, a living, breathing woman with feelings, it became too much to bear. I can't keep hoping for what will never come. I have to go out a find a life of my own. Even if it wasn't what I hoped for, it's more than I have now."

He rested his hand on hers. “I don’t suppose you’d accept an elven replacement in this new life?”

She laughed. “As much as I admire and respect you, I think we would both be made miserable by such an arrangement.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean me. I meant my son.” She burst out laughing, making him smile again. “I happen to think you would make a handsome couple, and he’s only half as rigid and self-righteous when you’re around.”

She laughed again, rocking into his side. He put his arm around her shoulders, a fatherly gesture that eased the pressure on her chest. 

“Well, you should consider how highly I regard you to make the offer. Even if it comes from a selfish place, hoping to keep one of my rare human friends within reach.”

“I consider it the highest compliment I have ever received.”

“You should. But before you finalize your decision, you should also consider the thunderous looks on Bard’s face, every time he would see you at my court as my son’s queen.”

She squeezed his hand. “You are truly the best and most devious friend a woman could ask for.”

“Even if you were not my son’s queen, you would be welcome to stay here as my guest, Adelinde. As a friend of the elves. Pass your years here, where you would be valued and respected. My people would love you.”

She smiled, feeling the pleasant burn of happy tears at the corners of her eyes. She’d never received such an offer before. To be wanted because she was loved, instead of needed. 

“I wish that I could. I wish that I had a heart that could be content with endless days of pampering and languor. I’m just one of those stubborn people who is only happy when she’s worked herself into a stump.”

“We could put you to work cleaning the halls.”

“You’re terrible,” she told him. 

He laughed and motioned for Lithwin to bring her a cushion for her head and a light blanket. He placed both on the bench. “Stay here in this quiet chamber, my dear. Rest your heart and your spirit. You need not move for a moon’s turn if you do not wish it. I will make sure you are not disturbed.”

She didn’t mean to nod off lying across the bench, but the sound of the water had been so hynoptic and relaxing, she couldn’t help it. She lifted her head and wiped at her eyes. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t figure out what. She reached for the silver ewer of minted water, swishing it around her mouth. She realized what had woken her. 

Yelling. She could hear yelling from the throne room. Confused, she smoothed her dress over her hips and followed the sound down Thranduil’s cavernous halls. 

“WHERE IS SHE!” 

She walked into Thranduil’s throne room, where she found Bard, screaming for all his worth, at a highly amused elf king. Thranduil was stretched across his throne like a cat, sipping wine and smirking while Bard seemed to have completely lost his mind. 

“Where is she? Where have you taken her? Who’s watching over her?” Bard yelled. He was wearing a dark green doublet stitched with golden bows at the shoulder. A golden crown sat crooked on his brow while he yelled, gesturing wildly. ”My people am grateful for your help, Thranduil. I will always be indebted to you, but you have gone too far this time. How dare you remove one of my citizens from the confines of Dale without so much as a by your leave!” 

“I did nothing the lady didn’t ask for,” Thranduil purred. “She was an exotic bloom, neglected within the confines of the your city. Ignored, left to wither on the vine. It shouldn’t surprise you that some other more observant king should come along and … pluck her.”

Addie’s mouth dropped open. She’d never felt anything but respectful congeniality from Thranduil. And he was making it sound like they were … that they’d already… 

Her head cocked to the side. He was baiting Bard. Thranduil was doing this on purpose. 

While she may never love the elf king, she was certain he was the best friend she ever had. She was only grateful that the throne room was empty of courtiers. She did not need the ladies of Mirkwood to resent her more than they did already.

Bard flushed an unhealthy shade of purple. He spluttered. “If you have taken advantage of her… If she … I demand that you … you should marry her immediately,” Bard said, grimacing as if the words pained him. “Otherwise, I will consider it a declaration of hostilities with Dale. Our women are not playthings for you to abduct and toy with, only to discard when you are finished. I will not see Addie unhappy.”

Addie gasped and before she knew what she was doing, she marched into the throne room, her skirts trailing behind her. “Are you out of your mind?!”

She looked as regal and righteously angry as the lady Galadriel on her worst day and a pleased grin ruined Thranduil’s sensual mien. “Marching in here and accusing the king of mistreating me? Making half-assed declarations of war? Saying that he is the one making me unhappy when you’re the one who drove me out of town!”

Bard looked distinctly offended. “Me? What are you talking about?”

Addie threw her hands in the air. “I give up. No grown man could be this bloody oblivious.” She looked to Thranduil. “Honestly, how could anybody be this stupid?”

Thranduil shrugged. “In centuries of dealing with men, I’ve found that they can indeed be that stupid.”

“Hey!” Bard barked at him. 

“The feast begins in a few hours. Perhaps the two of you would care to retire to a more private area, where you can handle King Bard’s tantrum more discreetly.” 

“I wouldn’t handle him if he was the last living man in the west!” 

She turned on her heel and started toward her room, stopped and curtsied deeply to Thranduil. “Your Majesty, thank you as always, for your friendship.” 

She glared at Bard, turned and marched towards her room, slamming the door behind her. She grabbed the brush from her vanity and dragged it through her tangled hair. The door opened behind her and Bard walked through without so much as a “by your leave.” 

“Addie, what is the meaning of this? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you?”

Addie rushed toward him and did the last thing Bard expected of her. She threw her hairbrush at his head.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update was so long delayed! Real life is grinding me into a fine powder. Also, this is a sexy chapter, which always makes me nervous.

Bard ducked just in time to avoid a head injury. The heavy hairbrush bounced against the doorfame like a declaration of war.

“What?” he straighted to his full height. “What in the world has gotten into you, Adelinde Flaxen!”

“Reality!” she shouted back. “And a full grasp of my own foolishness. And a little bit of elfin wine with lunch, but that’s besides the point.”

“Are you drunk?” he asked, tilting his head at her. 

“Not nearly enough, Your Majesty,” she shot back. 

“Addie, please don’t call me that. Please just talk to me. Why are you so angry?”

“I was gone for day –days, Bard. How long did it take you to notice?” She gritted her teeth to keep the tears from forming in her eyes. She wouldn’t cry now. Bard had no right to her tears. She could be the regal ice queen Thranduil imagined at Legolas’s side. She was a strong, competent woman who had murdered multiple orcs in battle. She could handle this. 

Bard threw his hands up in the air, an exasperated expression on his face. “I noticed right away! I just couldn’t get the girls to tell me where you’d gone! Your trainees are disturbingly protective of you, even if they’re my daughters. I’ve had nothing but icy silence at every meal this week. Even Bain has given me the cold shoulder. He’s staying in the soldier’s barracks! Percy stopped guarding my door and now anyone can just walk right into my office! Thorin warned me that there were rumbling under the Mountain from dwarves who wanted to halt trade with Dale, considering the insult I’d dealt the only human Healer who’d ever properly set broken dwarven bones. If Fili hadn’t flung the news at me in a fit of anger over how I’D upset Sigrid with my behavior towards you, I might never had known where to find you! ”

Addie’s lips twitched upwards, pleased by the unexpected show of loyalty from her loved ones.

“Please just tell me what I did,” he murmured, stepping closer to her. “I was wrong to be so harsh with you that night in my office. I thought you accepted my apology. I thought we understood each other. Why would you leave without so much as a wave through my window?” 

She shook her head and stepped away from him. “You broke my heart, Bard.”

“What? How?” He stopped in his tracks. 

Her mouth dropped open. “Are you blind as well as stupid?”

“Would you please stop calling me stupid?”

“I’m tempted to throw that mirror at you!” she yelled, jerking her towards the heavy silver hand mirror on her vanity.

Bard none-too-subtly sidled between Addie and the available projectiles. “Addie, you’ve never said a word about anything beyond friendship. How could I break your heart?”

“How could I ever say anything? When you’ve told me over and over how much you value my FRIENDSHIP? How you never would have made it through the last few years with such a FRIEND as me? How you’ve know such a loyal and helpful FRIEND? Anna was the love of your life. I was your FRIEND. And I accepted that. I thought I could live with it. And then the dragon came. Everyone’s life had changed. It got better for them. But mine stayed the same. The same loneliness. The same weariness. And you’d moved so far beyond my reach that I didn’t even know how to... When you yelled at me, when you sent me away, it broke me. I couldn’t stay in Dale anymore. I couldn’t watch you marry someone else and pretend to be happy for you and become Old Edith before I reached thirty.”

“You love me?” he repeated. 

“Yes, for years now. But braining you with the mirror still seems like a viable option.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” he rushed forward, clutching her jaw in her palms and sealing his mouth over hers in a fierce kiss. He smelled of his hurried ride to Thranduil’s kingdom, of horse and forest, of the tobacco he’d carefully indulged in back in Laketown. Her fingers gripped at his shoulders, scraping her palms at the rough gold thread of his coat. 

Addie froze under the pleasant burn at her lips. Bard was kissing her. After all of these years, she knew what it was like to feel his mouth against hers, thoroughly and with just enough teeth and tongue to make her knees weak. And the ease with which he affected her, had a hot spike of temper flaring through her belly. She pushed back at his shoulders, knocking him back a step. 

He didn’t get to do that. Bard didn’t get to kiss her after what he’d put her through. Desire warred inside her with the hurt that still lingered there. But his lips were still reaching for hers as she moved him away, his face flushed and his mouth swollen. His heavy-lidded eyes blinked at her, confusion threading through the lust burning there. She’d put that addled, half-drugged expression there, with nothing but a kiss. 

Temper turned to triumph, and she pulled him back to her, lancing her lips against his. He groaned, his hands sliding from her face, down her neck, to the length of her back. He crushed her to him as his lips traveled along her jaw. “I have wanted to do this for years,” he whispered hoarsely against her skin. 

He traced the lines of her neck with his tongue, pushing her hair aside to nibble at the place where her neck and shoulder met. “I have studied the curves of this neck. I know every freckle. I even mapped those freckles along your collarbone that I'm not supposed to know about, but your blouse fell aside one warm afternoon and my mind's eye never left them. I have spent hours at the tiller of my boat, imagining how you would taste here.”

He nosed the hollow of her throat and sucked lightly at her pulse-point. “And here.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth, her belled sleeve sliding down to her elbow. He nipped at the web of flesh between her thumb and forefinger. “But mostly, here.”

“You never said a word,” she whispered as his lips traveled down her wrist to her elbow. His other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her even closer, so when he raised his head, he met her mouth in another melting kiss that sent heat spiraling through her middle. He was pushing her gently toward her massive bed, and it took all of her strength not to drag him faster. She didn’t want to frighten the poor man.

“How could I?” he murmured against her mouth as the back of her knees bumped the mattress. She opened her mouth to ask what he meant by that, but he slid his tongue into her mouth and wiped all questions from her mind. 

His hands searched her back for the ties that held her dress in place, all while stealing the breath from her lungs. When he couldn’t pluck apart the intricate stay knots, he turned her with enough force to make her fall forward and brace her palms against the coverlet. She heard of tsing of knife being drawn and felt the stays of her being sliced away.

She huffed out a dizzy laugh as he peeled the dress from her shoulders. She wiggled her hips, letting the material slip over her skin until she was standing in her thin silk underdress. She turned to find him smirking, his eyes drifting down her body. She smiled, and remembering the way Thranduil moved in battle, side-stepped Bard while pushing him onto his back on the bed. He landed with an “ooof” and she lifted her skirt, climbing onto the mattress. 

She straddled his hips, tugging at the knots that kept his coat closed. His fingers trailed along her cheek as she pushed the green velvet aside and pulled her down to meet his mouth. Her hips slid down against his, the solid warmth of him pressing between her thighs. She ached inside, needing friction and pressure, and though she had only a clinical knowledge of how sex worked, she was sure that lovely weight she felt wedged against her was the cure for that particular condition. He arched under her, grinding against her, making her moan as his bared pale skin came into view. 

She was a healer. She’d seen hundreds of bodies over the years, but none of them as beautiful or as dear as Bard’s. Every muscle was born of work, of struggle to care for and protect people he loved. Every scar was well-earned. And she believed she saw him blushing slightly as he tugged her dress over her shoulders and threw it aside. 

He stared up at her bared form, an expression of dumbstruck wonder bringing him to a halt. Feeling suddenly shy, she bluffed by bending and biting him lightly on the collarbone. He yelped, rolling over her. “That’s not nice.”

She snickered, snapping the buttons holding his pants in place and shoving them down his thighs. She gloried in the freedom to skim her hands over his bottom and curl her feet around his sturdy, muscled legs. Bard ghosted his fingers down her ribs, making her jump, then nibbled the curve of her breasts, the planes of her stomach. He sucked at the hollows of her hipbones. 

Her eyes went wide as Bard’s fingers slid over her glistening flesh. She shuddered as he parted her, testing her, spreading the dew that he found there. His thumb circled the little bud of pleasure she’d only touched when the nights seemed hopelessly cold and lonely. She arched off of the bed when he paired that movement with two fingers slipping deep inside her. Her thighs fell apart, welcoming him closer. He bit one gently, and then the other, before he slid back up her body to bury his face against her throat. 

The tingling pressure grew to a throbbing coil of need, moving her hips against his hand as he stroked her. She could feel herself dripping against Bard’s wrist as she twisted and writhed. She gasped into his mouth as that first flutter of release quaked through her, sobbing and sighing as it spread throughout her entire body. 

With his free hand, he stroked his thumb along her mouth as he teased her opening. She nodded and he thrust slowly forward. There was a quick pinch, more burn than pain, and he was fully inside her. 

He stopped, staring down at her, watching her face for signs of regret. But she rolled her hips up to meet him, making him groan as her silken heat gripped him. He rubbed at her with his thumb, easing the discomfort aside in favor of delightful friction. Gently, he moved inside of her until she was frantically urging him forward with her feet against his backside, silently begging him to move.

He gripped the headboard and thrust, throwing her back against the pillows. She gasped, crossing her ankles at his waist. This new movement, combined with the circles of his thumb had that delicious heat building in her belly all over again. She threw her head back against the headboard, yelping as she fell over the edge, the quivering inside her pulling Bard right along with her. He yelled, back arching, hips pumping. And when she finally stilled, he slumped against her and pressed his damp forehead against her breast. 

Huffing, she dragged her fingertips over his mussed hair. “It usually lasts a bit longer,” he told her, rolling so her head was braced against his chest . “But it’s been … ten years or so. I'll be back up to fighting condition in another round or so.”

“You realize Thranduil probably heard that whole thing, yes?” she asked, grinning at him. Bard groaned.  
“He’ll never let me hear the end of it now. He was planning on me marrying Legolas just to torture you.”

He bolted up, nearly knocking her out of her comfortable position. “What!”

“He has an odd sense of humor,” she said, easing him back onto the mattress. “What did you mean when you said, ‘How could I?’ How could you not tell me that you loved me for years?”

“You were a beautiful young woman, bright and fresh and sweet. You could have any man you wanted. I was a broken down old widower who could barely feed the children he had, much less take on a new wife and any other children that might come along. How could I drag you into such a hard life?”

“We’re the same age, Bard.”

“Most days, I feel decades older.”

“Well, I occasionally act like a child, so we’ll have to meet somewhere in the middle.”

He chuckled, kissing her forehead. “Why did you stay so upset with me?” he asked. “After the battle? I know I was wrong to yell at you, but normally that’s something you would forgive after a few days. The Addie I know wouldn’t just leave without a word.”

She sat up, frowning at him. “What do you mean, ‘without a word?’ I wrote to you to tell you that I was resigning my position. And then when I saw you next, you didn’t care at all if I left. You told me that you ‘didn’t question my decision.’”

“I told you I ‘didn’t question your decision’ regarding the list of items you needed for the infirmary”

She thought about it for a moment and moaned. “Norman didn’t give you my resignation?”

He shook his head.

“I probably shouldn’t entrust vital tasks to a person after I’ve pressed a sharp blade to their groin while threatening them,” she muttered.

“Probably not,” he agreed. “Wait, what?”


End file.
